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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28950030">I'll Come Back Someday (For You)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theobliviouswriter/pseuds/theobliviouswriter'>theobliviouswriter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Aged-Up Character(s), Airbending &amp; Airbenders, Alternate Universe - Avatar &amp; Benders Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Bending (Avatar), Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Badass Sokka (Avatar), Bending (Avatar), Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), College Student Sokka, College Student Zuko, Drama &amp; Romance, Earthbending &amp; Earthbenders, Ember Island (Avatar), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Everyone Is Gay, Fire Nation (Avatar), Firebending &amp; Firebenders, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Panic, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Heavy Angst, Hurt Sokka (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Korrasami is Canon, Little Brother Zuko, M/M, Memory Loss, Modern Era, Oblivious Zuko (Avatar), POV Sokka (Avatar), Past Lives, Pining, Post ATLA and LOK, Post-100 Year War (Avatar TV), Post-Avatar: The Last Airbender, Post-Avatar: The Legend of Korra, Protective Sokka (Avatar), Public Figure, Reincarnation, Republic City, Romance, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sokka (Avatar)-centric, Sokka is surrounded by no one he remembers, Sokka is very lonely, Sokka remembers his reincarnations because of spirit stuff, Sokka's dad is a pos, Soulmates, Spirit World, Spirit World (Avatar), Star-crossed, Temporary Death, The Jasmine Dragon (Avatar), United Republic of Nations (Avatar), Verbal Abuse, Waterbending &amp; Waterbenders, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko remembers nothing, barista zuko, death in the prologue but the person who dies is the protag so, first son on the united republic of nations, first son sokka, future lives, he changes it, he's a gaslighting pos who only cares about public opinion, hira'a, middle class zuko, peasant zuko, sokka is the son of a politician so his dad's kind of shitty, sokka's name is hahn, star-crossed lovers, zuko lives a good life in this reincarnation, zuko's name is lee in this reincarnation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:08:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>77,267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28950030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theobliviouswriter/pseuds/theobliviouswriter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’ll be together someday. I won’t stop looking until I find you again.” </p><p>Those words, Sokka thought, were a blessing. </p><p>After living through several lives without Zuko, they now feel like a curse. </p><p>They were the last words Sokka muttered to the Fire Lord on his death bed after saving Avatar Korra from an attempted kidnapping, and while he meant them, he didn't know that they would come true. </p><p>Yet, he tried, tried, tried again, and after cycling into his fourth life, he's starting to give up hope. </p><p>All until he walks into the Jasmine Dragon right next to Republic City University's campus.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sokka &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>413</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I do want to warn you here: there is MCD in the prologue that is temporary to the story. I don't have it marked as MCD on the fic because the protag of this story is the character that dies. There is no other death in this story beyond the prologue and I believe it's easy to follow without the prologue. </p><p>Also, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXkDBVrBCpk">this</a> is the song I used for the fic title. Still pissed this song's unreleased.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Twilight in the South Pole is beautiful when the sun dips behind the horizon. The night is still; the wind pauses for a moment. The streets are empty, people enjoying the few months of night allowed. This certain night, an aurora dances above the town. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s been to the South Pole many times, but only once was he able to watch the aurora twinkle down at him like this—back when he was younger, much younger, only a handful of years after the end of the war and a couple before Izumi was born. Back when everything seemed right. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka wanted him to come then. He wanted him to see the beauty of the lights. It’d been the first time in years that he got to enjoy it and he wanted Zuko to see them too. With him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he came. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that they had much time to sit and stare upwards. They never had much time to themselves; trouble popped up around every corner and that night, international business overtook their free time.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, all of these years later, Sokka is the reason that he’s here. Zuko wishes that it would’ve been to look at some lights in the sky, but, once Druk lands, Zuko won’t be able to enjoy the aurora. As soon as he touches down, he’ll be running to Sokka’s side, even if it pains him in his older age. Time is precious and…. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka doesn’t have much of it left.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Zuko first received word that Sokka was dying, he didn’t believe it. Sokka’s one of those people that seem like they’re going to live forever. It had to be a joke, right? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Zuko’s body understood; Katara had written the letter and she would never joke about that. He climbed onto Druk without a second thought, but an overwhelming form of numbness plagued Zuko on his flight to the South Pole. As much as he tried to wrap his head around the situation, he couldn’t accept that Sokka wasn’t going to live. He was the strongest man Zuko had the pleasure of knowing—he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to pull through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even as his dragon hurtles towards the icy ground of Sokka’s hometown, he doesn’t believe it. But the still night suddenly feels too loud. The aurora’s too bright and the moon feels like a spotlight, showcasing the denial Zuko’s groveling in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Druk comes to a complete stop, Zuko takes one more minute to breathe, but it’s too quiet. Too cold. And Sokka, as he usually would’ve, isn’t meeting them on the ice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, it’s Kya, Katara’s daughter. The look on her face is grim but not damning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s still time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need to hurry, Firelord,” Kya chokes out. “Mom’s doing what she can, but.” She can’t say it. Tears overwhelm her, and she turns from Zuko, walking back towards Sokka’s home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The more Zuko hears the truth, the more he wants to fight against it. He wants to scream—at Kya, at </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone—</span>
  </em>
  <span>for making up such a horrible lie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko could sit there all day and point fingers, but his body seems to make up its mind for him; he needs to see Sokka. He slides off of Druk and doesn’t register that he’s sprinting until he passes Kya. He barrels towards Sokka’s home at full speed, ignoring his aching knees and desperately trying to not trip on his royal robes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cold air slices at his face; the stinging pain forces him back to reality. As he runs, it finally hits him: Sokka’s dying. He called for Zuko; Sokka wanted him to be at his side when he died. Zuko can’t laugh this off as some cruel joke and now he needs to fulfill Sokka’s dying wish. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His legs take him through the snow, across the town, and to Sokka’s front door. He bursts through and only stops running when he’s met with the unblinking stare of Tenzin, who is sitting on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he…?” Zuko asks, his adrenaline beginning to dip. His knees buckle a little and a lump forms in his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tenzin, like his father, stands and bows in Zuko’s presence before saying anything. “My mom’s been keeping him alive, but once she stops, he’ll succumb to his injuries. It’s...bad.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko collapses to the ground. “What happened?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tenzin watches him with a sorry expression. “Some thugs were trying to kidnap the Avatar.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why wasn’t I informed?” Zuko asks, a brief lick of anger blooming in the pit of his stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone sent for you,” Tenzin says, brow furrowed. He shakes his head. “The letter must’ve been intercepted.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is Korra…?” Zuko asks, eyes wide. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Tenzin says and the mounting worry—anger—dissolves…but then there’s Sokka. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should’ve been here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Zuko thinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And Sokka,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tenzin bows his head. “He was the first to respond and...he was hurt. The guys are in jail. But….”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sokka wouldn’t have been hurt if I was </span>
  </em>
  <span>here. Zuko bows his head in shame. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is he in his room?” he whimpers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tenzin nods and helps him back up to his feet, but he is able to walk back to Sokka’s room on his own. Regardless, each step is harder than the last. Each step is one step closer to seeing Sokka die in front of him, but if Sokka wants him there, he’ll be there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko will always be there for Sokka. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Zuko reaches the door, he bows his head and prays to the spirits that Sokka will make it. Deep down, he knows it won’t do anything, but he feels so helpless. All he can do now and step in and be there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he walks into the room, Zuko doesn’t know what to expect—what he finds is a pain-ridden Sokka and a silently crying Katara. She’s doing what she can, shifting the energy throughout his chest, probably keeping his heart pumping, but she wears the weight of knowing she can’t do anything else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s true: that invincible light of a man is flickering out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka opens his eyes slightly and from where Zuko stands, he doesn’t know if he can see him. But when he grunts, it grabs Katara’s attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can leave us alone,” Sokka says through clenched teeth. Hearing the pain in his voice hurts almost as much as it did when Azula struck Zuko with lightning all of those years ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s not allowed to be hurt like that. He’s not. He can’t be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how long you’ll last without me,” Katara whimpers. She leans over him and Sokka stares up at her. A few tears roll down his cheeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” he breathes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, it’s not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Zuko thinks. The sob that comes from him is audible. He clamps his hand over his mouth and leans against the wall for support. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sokka,” Katara says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Katara,” Sokka says feebly. “I love you. Thank you for trying.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko wants to look away, but he can’t. He watches a brother and sister’s last goodbye. She kisses him on the forehead and she’s trembling so hard, even as her hands still work. But finally, she pulls them away from his body and he gasps. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without a word, Katara walks past Zuko and out of the room; he rushes to Sokka and collapses at his side. Sokka slowly turns to Zuko and grins. The life doesn’t reach his eyes, yet he looks so </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey. Thanks for coming. I...I was worried you wouldn’t be here in time.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko can tell it hurts him to talk, but there’s nothing he can do to ease Sokka’s pain and he hates himself for it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are so many things he wants to say, but the lump in his throat keeps him from doing so. He manages to utter, “Of course I would be here with you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A single tear rolls down Sokka’s cheek and Zuko wipes it away. “I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to die in anyone else’s arms.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unable to hold himself back anymore, he reaches out and cups Sokka’s face between his hands, choking out a sob. “You’re not going to die, Sokka,” he says. “Please don’t die.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smile fades. It disappears from his face and turns into remorse. “I don’t want to,” he grunts. “But at least I can die knowing that I told you everything I've wanted to tell you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Zuko asks. His heart pounds against his rib cage so hard, it feels like a mockery of Sokka’s state. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Death begins to loom in Sokka’s eyes. They flicker, beginning to roll back into his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sokka!” Zuko shouts, his voice cracking, “stay with me!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zuko,” Sokka gasps. “Zuko.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sokka</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Tears roll down his cheeks and make his cheeks itch, but he can’t move away from Sokka.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zuko,” he whispers, smiling. “I am in love with you. I always have been.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air dissipates from the room and Zuko can’t breathe. Those words….</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have always been a secret, tucked away deep in Zuko’s repertoire, never to be used out of fear of losing Sokka, out of reasons that no longer matter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko trembles at the too little too late realization: they have always felt the same way towards each other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Always</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe that night, decades ago under the aurora, Sokka wanted to tell him. Of course, they got distracted, but in the few minutes they sat together, Sokka had seemed nervous and twitchy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka could’ve told him then. They would’ve had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>life </span>
  </em>
  <span>together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko would’ve never abandoned that hope he had for them—he would’ve never moved on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Spirits</span>
  </em>
  <span>, maybe Sokka wouldn’t be dying in his arms tonight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why did Sokka have to tell him </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t die,” Zuko breathes, taking his shoulders and pulling him closer, but when Sokka grunts in pain, Zuko lets go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes his hands in return. His breathing is short and loud and Zuko knows it’s coming soon. Too soon. Maybe within seconds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zuko,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How different would their lives have been if Sokka had told him when they were still young? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All of Zuko’s fears, his mounting regrets—they don’t matter now. Sokka needs to know the truth before he goes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always loved you, too,” Zuko says through his tears. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry I never said anything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few more tears roll down Sokka’s cheeks and Zuko looks away, pulling Sokka’s hands upwards and to his lips. “I love you,” Zuko says between kissing each wrinkled knuckle. (Sokka’s hands are too cold.) “I love you, I love you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko says the words like they could patch Sokka up and pull him back together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A smile slips onto Sokka’s face. It’s weak, so weak, and his grip on Zuko’s hand starts to loosen—Zuko holds on tighter to compensate—but as he takes his last few breaths, he says, “We’ll be together someday. I won’t stop looking until I find you again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Zuko asks, but then, Sokka exhales. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, his hand feels limp and his eyes glass over. Zuko lets go and Sokka’s hand falls to his side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s gone, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and it feels like a piece of Zuko’s died with him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He throws himself over Sokka’s body and allows the sobs and wails to work their way through his body. His best friend, the man he had loved for so long, gone. And he has to live with that for the rest of his life: knowing he could’ve done something—<em>anything</em>. They could’ve been together. They could’ve died in each other’s arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Zuko failed Sokka. He failed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Someone pries Zuko off of Sokka and he tries to fight them off, but when he sees Katara’s distraught, he lets go. For the last time.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zuko can’t look directly at Sokka anymore. While he is still so beautiful with his gray hair and blue eyes and the wrinkles that show that he’s experienced life, that’s not Sokka anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the corner of his eye, Zuko watches Katara shut his eyes and cover him with a sheet, and when she approaches him, he looks to the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zuko. What did he tell you?” Katara asks quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s between me and him,” Zuko snaps, standing. He stumbles, but Katara steadies him. Her patience is infuriating as anger begins to stir within. Not at her...but at everything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Zuko, I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I need to be alone,” Zuko breathes, giving her a hug so she knows he’s not mad at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, he floats away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He floats through the hall, out the front door, down the street, and to the place where he and Sokka first sat together to look at the lights. He sits at the ledge, his behind frozen on the ground, but it’s not any more uncomfortable than the despair raking through his body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The aurora is still there, bobbing above him. Purples and greens dance through the sky, and to his surprise, a star darts across the horizon, settling behind it after a few seconds. He desperately wants to go back to that one day they had together and say what was on his mind, but he can’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, all Zuko has is heartbreak, loneliness, and that promise Sokka made to him with his last breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be together someday,” Zuko whispers to himself.  “I won’t stop looking until I find you again—what do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka?” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Several years pass before Zuko succumbs to death as well, and he slips away without ever knowing what Sokka meant. But the last words Zuko utter are these: “I’m finally going to see Sokka. We’ll be together again.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay. Yeah. It's rough. But next chapter will be much happier! I promise! I'm really excited to explore a modern Republic City, especially from the eyes of the first son of the President! I'm also excited to see how Zuko and Sokka essentially switch places, but not really. I've loved developing this story and can't wait to post more. If you'd like to follow me on social media, you can check out my <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>! </p><p>I'm in college and am writing A LOT this semester, so I'll try to update as often as I can!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 00:00</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The air is crisp and wet; Sokka gets a lungful of it when he takes a step outside of the Spirit Portal and past the surrounding forest. Wandering back into the physical world can be disorienting, especially when you walk in while the sun still hangs from the sky. It’s dusk now—the sky overwhelmed with lush plums and navies and flickered with traces of pink.</p><p>The neon lights reflect off the rain-slicked pavement, making the air hazy. The world is quiet; the streets are empty.</p><p>“Do you need an umbrella, Sokka?” a Kyoshi Warrior asks. Her voice makes him jump; he forgot she was there. As his security detail, it’s customary for them to follow him about. But he hates that she and her partner have been wandering around the entrance of the Portal all day, awaiting Sokka’s return to the physical world. </p><p>The thing is, he doesn’t need protection—he can take whatever’s thrown at him (and frankly, he doesn’t care what’s thrown at him). Plus, his father hates all of the attention Sokka’s brought to the place; the obvious solution is to go incognito. Everyone knows where he is when his security detail is pacing around the perimeter. </p><p>None of this is the girls’ fault, though. He refuses to take it out on them, so he shakes his head at the offer and gives her a half-assed smile before heading towards the Green House—the President of the United Republic of Nations’ living quarters. The walk from his home to the Spirit Portal isn’t too far, but just enough that it would be smarter to use a Sato. Sokka never considers using one; walking helps clear his mind. </p><p>Or, it usually does. </p><p>On the days Iroh lectures him, he’s stuck in his head long after leaving the Spirit World. He can barely pay attention to anything around him. One of the Warriors grabs his arm as he almost steps into a manhole while thinking about a proverb Iroh was reciting earlier. A couple of minutes later, he nearly walks into an alley where a couple of men are gambling. He only registers that he’s done so when one of the Warriors pulls him by the scruff of his collar. </p><p>“We’re taking a Sato next time,” the Warrior grumbles as they approach the Green House. </p><p>“Hey. I like walking,” Sokka replies, straightening his collar.</p><p>The other Warrior rolls her eyes. “You also nearly died twice, Kid.” </p><p>The three come to a stop in front of a large gate, gilded and gaudy. Sokka thinks it’s stupid to flex wealth on a <em> back gate </em> , but whoever designed the building thought it was <em> brilliant </em>. </p><p>The Kyoshi Warriors part ways with him here and he mumbles a “thanks” before sliding through the gate and into the backyard. If you could call it that.  It’s mostly pavement with a small square of earth occupied by his mother’s garden. Otherwise, it’s cold and concrete. Militant. (So much for being a <em> green </em>house, huh?)</p><p>He passes quietly through the concrete garden guided by moonlight. As he opens the backdoor, he peeks inside, gauging the area. There’s nothing he notices in his general vicinity, but a dim light flickers in a room down the expansive hallway. Only his mother uses oil lamps, so he sighs in relief and steps in. </p><p>“Hahn.”</p><p>Sokka freezes half-way through locking the door. <em> Hahn. </em> The name he consigned to oblivion. The name his father insists on using despite the fact he legally changed it. Even now, hundreds of years later, the only face he sees when hearing <em> that </em>name is that smug motherfucker of a fiance Yue had. Hearing his father say it now makes him cringe. </p><p>“Asshole,” Sokka says in reply. As he turns from the door, his father looms in the doorway of a darkened room—was he waiting? Sokka attempts to pass his father, but he grabs his shoulder roughly. Sokka hisses as he is forcibly turned to face the man he was regrettably produced by. </p><p>“Do <em> not </em> call me that,” his father hisses. </p><p>“Don’t call me Hahn, then.” Sokka jerks his shoulder out of his father’s grasp. </p><p>“That’s your name!” </p><p>“It is <em> not </em> my name,” Sokka seethes. He puts some space between them and crosses his arms over his chest. </p><p>It’s not like his father had forgotten. He found out via a tabloid article. Sokka sold that news to those trashy gossip magazines as soon as he walked out of the courthouse. </p><p>Rather than responding, his father stares him down with oceanic eyes. He wears the calm of a storm on his face, but there’s a hurricane brewing about them—that much is obvious with the vein bulging around his temple.</p><p>“Where were you, <em> Hahn </em> ?” his father says, poison laced in his words. “In the Spirit World again, neglecting your <em> real </em> duties like you always do?”</p><p>Sokka stutters a breath and clenches his fists at his side. As common of an occurrence it is, being chastised for his endeavors, it always makes Sokka feel nauseous. His shoulders slouch. His eyes divert to the wooden floors. </p><p>“Do you know who came by while you were dilly-dallying about?” </p><p>Sokka shrugs, kicking his feet around. </p><p>“I find it funny,” he tuts. “You have such an odd little fascination with the Fire Nation, yet when the royal family comes about, you disappear. I thought you would’ve wanted to be here. I guess you hadn’t heard.” </p><p>“You’re such an asshole,” Sokka mutters. He stomps down the hallway and turns towards the banister. Just as he attempts to go upstairs, his father grabs his wrist and yanks him back down. Sokka kicks him in the shin. </p><p>His father hisses but tightens his grasp. “You better—”</p><p>“If you touch me again I <em> will </em> end your political career,” he sneers. “I’ll move out, tell the world you’re a piece of shit, I’ll do whatever. Do <em> not </em> touch me!”</p><p>Sokka’s father retracts his hand and Sokka bolts up the stairs, wringing his wrist until it feels numb. He throws himself through his bedroom door, slamming it shut and locking it behind him. </p><p>The room is so dark, too quiet. Sokka only just realizes how hard his heart pounds against his chest when he leans against the door; a dull thud pulsates in the back of his skull. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline wearing off. </p><p>But then, his knees buckle. Sokka slides down the door as the world whirs about him. Tears spring to his eyes, and even as numb as he feels, it hurts, <em> this hurts </em> and he doesn’t want it. </p><p>Sinking his hands into the carpet under him, he tries to ground himself.</p><p>His bedroom is massive—filled with hundreds of thousands of books, all he’s read through his lifetimes. The bookshelves reach from floor to ceiling, and they have a rolling ladder fit for his expansive library. (It’s one of his favorite things.) Directly in front of him is his plush bed situated between a pair of bookshelves. If he didn’t want to stay up late, he would’ve already thrown himself into the silk sheets.</p><p>Tilting his head back against the wood of the door, Sokka exhales. He’s in his room. He’s not floating off, he’s not going anywhere….</p><p>He’s a little wobbly as he stands, but when he gets to his feet, he steps into the middle of his room and faces the curved glass wall. The lights are off, but the moon smiles down at him, lighting up the room. </p><p>When they first moved in after his father was elected, it was a library; it was supposed to stay one. But while Sokka was having a bad night—a few months after he remembered <em> everything </em>—he found himself in here. Standing in the pale moonlight, gazing out to sea; his soul felt some semblance of peace, so he knew he needed it to be his permanent residence.</p><p>As he approaches the glass now, he looks down at the shores of Yue Bay. Waves break against the rocks below him and shrink back rhythmically. He tears his gaze from the rock and tilts his chin up—face-to-face with Yue.</p><p>The moon peers into his room for most of the night. The familiar comfort is helpful when he feels alone like this. Yue’s light reminds him of who he is, why he’s here. He sits on an ottoman in front of the window and pulls his knees to his chest. </p><p>For a moment he sits there, redirecting his attention to Yue: letting her take him in as he does the same to her. She seems so far away—he can only reach his arm out so far before he’s just grabbing for air. She can’t sit next to him and talk. No one can. Not in the physical world.</p><p>Sokka’s eyes sting and his throat constricts. Even in the light of the moon, even being bathed in Yue’s rays, he can’t bring or find it in himself to take her comfort. Not after what his dad said. Not after meeting with Iroh today. Especially not right <em> now </em>, the day before...before….</p><p>A knock on Sokka’s bedroom door snaps him out of his trance. His father would’ve looked for the key, so he knows his mother waits beyond the door. As much as he doesn’t want to move, he drags himself across the room and unlocks the door. He stumbles back towards the window but collapses on a shag rug in front of it. It’s almost just as comfortable as the ottoman, so he sinks into the fabric and runs his fingers through the fibrous fur. It tickles his palm. </p><p>His mother sinks to the ground next to him after a moment and holds her hand out in front of his face. Druk, his red pygmy dragon, sits in the palm of her hand, blinking at him with curiosity. His little head cocks to the side. </p><p>Sokka readjusts his position to where he’s propped up on his forearms; he takes Druk from his mother and tucks the small dragon between his chest and the floor. Druk nestles himself where the two meet. </p><p>There’s a moment of silence. The two sit side by side, but like Yue, his mother feels miles away. Sometimes, she doesn’t even feel real. But he can reach out and poke her if he wanted. He doesn’t. Instead, he faces the window—the moon’s still too high in the sky for him to see her from where he sits. </p><p>“Sokka.” </p><p>He props his chin atop his knuckles and sighs. “Yeah.” </p><p>Staring back at him are teary eyes, a furrowed brow, and a wobbling pout. Her voice is wet and trembles with each word. “What can I do to help you?” </p><p><em> What can I do to help you? </em> </p><p>The words are loaded with care and consideration—with worry. Sokka knows she worries about him. He’s been asked this hundreds of times before, and hundreds of times over there’s been no answer. There still isn’t one. </p><p><em> What can I do to help you? </em> </p><p>Sokka’s helpless. Damned to the knowledge of his past lives, damned to the fact that he can’t talk to anyone about it—if he tried to talk to the Avatar, she’d probably tell his father. Sokka walks alone in this world, doing what he can to try and stay sane, to stay <em> alive </em>, so sometimes he needs time to himself. </p><p>The Spirit World is the only place he can get away. It’s the only place where the world doesn’t bear down on him—the expectations of the First Son, the college courses, the reality of adulthood. It’s the only place he feels <em> normal </em> . No one gawks at him for his eclectic collections or overbearing knowledge of the Hundred Years War: <em> his </em> past. The Spirit World, for many people, is the upside-down; for Sokka, it’s the right side up. It’s the only consistent home he’s had in his past few lifetimes.</p><p>When his father attacks him for trying to feel safe, it’s a punch in the gut. </p><p>So, maybe there’s something his mom <em> can </em> try. </p><p>“Tell Father to stop chastising me for going to the Spirit World,” Sokka says, voice cracking.</p><p>Sokka’s mom doesn’t say anything, but she does rest her hand on his upper back. He doesn’t refuse or flinch away, so she runs it up and down the curve of his spine. She does this for a while; she does it to show that she cares.</p><p>But sometimes, Sokka wonders—does she actually care? It’s a silly thought, he knows, but it’s been a long time since he’s ever felt the slightest bit connected to someone else. In the past few cycles, he didn’t allow himself to get too close to anyone if he could help it. While that still stands true, she’s the only person who’s fought that. </p><p>Sokka thinks he shouldn’t care, but sometimes, he finds that he does. </p><p>“By the way,” she says after several moments of silence; Sokka, who was nodding off, jolts up slightly, “I got the cake. It’s in the garage fridge.”</p><p>Sokka stifles a gasp; his mother stiffens. </p><p>“What, Sokka?”</p><p>Maybe a week ago, Sokka asked his mom to buy a cake for him. He didn’t expect her to, he didn’t think she would actually go to a bakery and pick one up. </p><p>She did. Without reiteration. </p><p>A lump forms in his throat, eyes watering. She doesn’t need to see this—she doesn’t need to see him, a mess over a fucking cake. </p><p>“Thank you.” Sokka tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but his voice still weighs heavy. “Can I please be alone now?” </p><p>Her hand stops just in the curve of his back; he can see her nod in his peripheral. Before she gets up, she leans over and presses a kiss to his widow’s peak—the one he managed to inherit yet again. She lingers there for a few seconds, then leaves the room wordlessly. When the door clicks closed, when Sokka’s finally alone, he rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. </p><p>Numbness takes over. </p><p>Then, a dull pain that starts from the tips of his toes and spreads to the top of his head. It’s a throb. It’s an ache. It’s a reminder that he’s here—with a head full of knowledge—alone. </p><p>He wasn’t supposed to remember everything—that’s the Avatar’s thing. A bridge between the physical and Spirit World and whatnot. But Sokka? </p><p>There’s a gentle nudge against his hand and he lolls his head over. Druk stares back at him and nips the tip of his finger. </p><p>“I should get in bed, shouldn’t I?” He scoops Druk up in his hand. “You can cuddle with me, but don’t set anything on fire.” </p><p>Druk chirps and nuzzles his scaly head against Sokka’s thumb.</p><p>Sokka guesses he can take the “not having anyone” thing back. He <em> does </em> have Druk. </p><p>While he pushes himself up from the ground, Druk launches into the air and flutters about, never straying too far. Sokka changes into his pajamas, and just before he climbs into bed, he fetches a book from off the shelf. He doesn’t have to look for it—he knows what the leather feels like under his palm: worn down and smooth to the touch. </p><p>Plopping down onto the edge of the bed, Sokka pulls his phone out of his pajama pants pocket and checks the time. His stomach churns with a deep pitted ache. It’s just about midnight. He opens it to the page he wants. He knows this tome backward and forwards, so he flips to the picture right away and stops. </p><p>Sokka’s eyes land on a picture painted lifetimes ago. Back when he was actually Sokka. Back when Zuko, the love of his life, stood by his side unknowing of the love Sokka had for him. Back when they were within arm’s length of each other. </p><p>Back when things <em>mattered</em>. </p><p>They stand shoulder to shoulder, the beautiful Fire Lord smiling blissfully next to his confidant. Sokka doesn’t look much different now than he did in that picture—he managed to be born into the same family—but what about Zuko? </p><p>Where is he now? </p><p>Does he still have that pretty smile? What about those golden eyes, or that shiny black hair? </p><p>The brash sound of an alarm reverberates through the room and Sokka skyrockets off the bed. He’s about to get mad at himself for setting that alarm, but he quickly settles back into reality when he remembers why. </p><p>It’s twelve.</p><p>It’s been two hundred and sixty-seven years since Sokka died. It’s been two hundred and sixty-seven years since he was blessed with the ability to find Zuko in each lifetime until they get what they want: each other. It’s been two hundred and sixty-seven years since Sokka’s last seen <em>his </em> Zuko, and spirits, does he want him back. </p><p>Sokka snaps the book closed and places it on the bedside table. He needs to get a little bit of sleep before he goes out again, so he tries. He rolls onto his back and gets as comfortable as he can; it only takes a few moments for exhaustion to wash over him. He falls asleep uttering the mantra he whispers to himself several times each day: <em> I will find you, Zuko. I will find you. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hmm. What are you guys thinking right now? </p><p>By the way, I got some modern day RC vibes from <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/post/641124847020294144/theartofanimation-mienar">this</a> post!</p><p>Also, I hope you enjoyed! I mentioned it in the comments in the prologue that this story will be about 24ish(?) chapters and I'll be updating every Sunday! (At varying times, I don't have a set time since I work. I'll try to get it out early, though.) So, yeah!</p><p>Two questions: </p><p>1. Do y'all have any questions for me?</p><p>2. I usually do "Question of the Chapter" on my other long fics. Would you guys like that too? </p><p>One last thing; you can follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>! I post there a lot :)</p><p> </p><p>Anyway, I'll get back to y'all again next Sunday. Have a great week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Heavy Dose of Atmosphere</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sokka’s eyes snap open moments before his alarm screams at him to wake up. That seems to always be the case. Whether a few minutes or hours, he’s wide awake before he has to worry about scaring everyone else up with that </span>
  <em>
    <span>agni-</span>
  </em>
  <span>awful alarm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls onto his side and feels around for his phone so it won’t go off while he’s thinking about it</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sokka finds it, the time 3:56 blinks back at him. It’s terribly early to start his day, but he doesn’t want a fuss about what he’s doing or why he’s doing it. Cloaked in the night—</span>
  <em>
    <span>and heavy rainfall</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks when he notices the downpour beyond the window—he won’t have to worry if the paparazzi or the Triple Threats will follow him about. He can maneuver around at ease. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pushing himself up, Sokka finds himself face to face with a flittering Druk. He huffs a plume of smoke and Sokka squeezes his eyes shut at the sting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that for?” Sokka whispers, wiping his eyes. “It’s too early to eat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk’s wings beat against the air, and when Sokka can see again, he’s not in his line of vision. He doesn’t need to turn around to find him; after a couple of seconds, Druk plops atop his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to come?” Sokka asks. He rises from his bed and paces over to his closet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes it as a yes when Druk chirps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pygmy dragon allows Sokka to get dressed after that. Druk settles back on the bed while Sokka gets ready for the morning and as soon as he’s slipped his shoes on, the dragon’s flitting around his shoulder again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to need to be quiet,” Sokka tells him. He holds his hand out and Druk teases obedience—as Sokka’s about to cradle him in his palm, he zooms back up into the air and out of Sokka’s reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll leave without you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If dragons could smile, Druk would be, and he does until he realizes that Sokka’s about to walk out the door without him. He swoops down and perches on his shoulder without another peep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stepping into the hallway at night is like stepping out into the corridors of a Fire Nation ship. It’s cool and the shadows strew all the way down the hall. The sound of rain doesn’t settle his nerves. As Sokka trails his way to the landing, it sounds like hammers are being dropped against the roof, ready to break it in. He begins to rethink his early morning adventure when a clap of thunder echoes through the house; he jumps so high his head nearly hits the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Sokka keeps going. He takes the stairs two steps at a time. He honors this day every year: rain or shine, in sickness and in health. He’s made this trek several times before and the temperamental Republic City weather’s not going to scare him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rounds the banister and walks those few steps to the garage, retrieving the cake from the fridge. He clicks the garage door closed behind him on the way out and is just about to make his way through the backdoor, but a light in the hallway flickers on and Sokka stops in his tracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, he doesn’t know who it is. He holds his breath, expecting a cool glare from his father, but instead, a tender hand is placed on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t be going out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s eyes sting, so he closes his eyes. “I have to do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air around them is thick and the silence almost makes him wonder if she’s going to pull him back to bed. She doesn’t. Her hand slides down his arm and picks at a small hole in his sleeve. Knowing her, she’ll probably pull out her sewing kit and mend it later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then take some Kyoshi Warriors with you. Nothing good happens this early in the morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shakes his head and wipes at his eyes. A heaviness settles in his belly. At first he tries to pull away from her when she turns him around, but her hands are so gentle and she’s not doing anything to chastise him, so he stops fighting it. He looks at her, tears in his eyes, then diverts his attention to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He caught a glimpse of her face for only a moment, but he can practically see what she was thinking from the expression she wore: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why do you do this to yourself? What is the reason? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to get hurt,” she tells him, placing both hands on his shoulders after Druk hops off and hovers by the door. “It’s raining so hard and you don’t know what’s out there—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” Sokka says, pulling up his hood with one hand. “No one will know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another bout of silence surrounds them, but not for too long. Her words are barely audible, but his mother says, “Keep the police on speed dial. Walk in open areas. You need an umbrella. It’s pouring. Don’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom,” Sokka says, opening the backdoor. “I’ll be fine. Go to sleep. Dad will know what’s up if you don’t. I’ll be home before you wake up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She says nothing else. After shoving an umbrella into his hands, she takes a step back and lets Sokka go; he slips out of the house, into the backyard, and to the gate. He’s beyond the Green House walls in no time, and not having a Kyoshi Warrior tacked to either shoulder allows him to stand up taller. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things are a few shades closer to normal. Sokka feels more himself this way: without the surveillance, without the constant eyes. Spirits, Sokka doesn’t think anyone could see him through the rain. It’s heavy enough that it makes walking forward a workout. Popping the umbrella open, Sokka holds it overhead and starts walking through the alleyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The neon faded with the night, so Sokka has to squint to see his way through. He keeps his eyes on his feet, one after the other, making sure not to step into a manhole. Druk takes refuge under his umbrella, tucked into the crook of Sokka’s neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trip to Central City Station is much longer than the trip to the Spirit World Portal is. Accounting for the rain, it takes a good hour before he finally reaches his destination on foot. Again, it would have been a better idea to take a Sato or a cab, but what matters now is that he’s here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Sokka approaches the stories-tall statue, the rain starts to let up. The wind whipping about stills and the large droplets pelting to the ground turn to a light drizzle. Druk, who slept most of the way, stirs and clips Sokka on the ear lobe. He hardly notices; his eyes are on the bronze statue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko stands in front of him, proud and tall with his palm alight, even in the rain. People used to see him as the epitome of redemption; he bears the light of hope. Now they pass this statue day to day without paying much mind to it. It’s just another thing that’s been around for centuries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka remembers when it was built—he remembers standing there when the train station was opened. Zuko stood beside him then, gauging the craftsmanship with a signature brood. Sokka had teased him, asking if holding his arm up that long for reference was worth it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Sokka stares at it lifetimes later when the once shiny new statue’s gone green with age. He stands there alone, the rain coming down upon him as he lowers the umbrella. The slow steady thud in Sokka’s chest almost aches—he places the cake at the foot of the statue and paces back to a bench situated in front of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes his time to get as comfortable as he can be sitting on a wet bench. He wipes away the thick layer of accumulated water and tries his best to make it dry, but in the end, he doesn’t find himself to care. He takes a seat and sets the umbrella on the space next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk immediately hides underneath it and peers up at Sokka, his black eyes pooling with curiosity. Sokka’s never taken him on an adventure like this before—he’s never been out of the Green House since he bought him. He sits back. The dragon’s eyes follow him, begging to know why they're here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Souls transcend lifetimes. Most people don’t know that.” Sokka turns his attention to the statue, taking in its beauty. Zuko gazes upward into the sky, but Sokka remembers the way it felt when he peered down at him. “Only the Avatar knows the feeling. Or, it’s only supposed to be the Avatar. But then there’s me. I’m the exception.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk nudges at Sokka’s thigh; he reaches down and scritches the top of his little head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve lived a few lifetimes now. I’m supposed to find him.” Sokka nods numbly to the statue and turns back to peer down at Druk. He stares blankly back at him. The blissful ignorance of being an animal is enviable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m supposed to find him and make him remember our past together. At least, that’s what I think,” Sokka continues. “Did you see the picture I was looking at last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk blinks; Sokka doesn’t know what to make of it, but being able to let this all out is therapeutic. He’s never told the dragon any of this before and he can’t talk back, so who better to tell? Sokka keeps going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I promised him that we would be together when I first died and it’s been two hundred and sixty-seven years since then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saying those words aloud makes something shift in Sokka. The heavy feeling in his chest weighs him down further and sudden exhaustion washes over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been so long….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka pulls his feet up onto the edge of the bench and hugs his legs to his chest, propping his chin atop his knees; he gazes downward at the pavement, watching the wavering reflection of the fire in a puddle. “I’m not going to break my promise, Druk. I can’t. I’m going to find him and we’re going to be happy, but you understand why I’m tired, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk, in response, hops up onto his shoulder and tucks himself between the fabric of his hoodie and the crook of his neck. He croons into Sokka’s ear. Sokka squeezes his eyes shut and stifles a sob. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want him again. Properly. And no one but Iroh gets it—oh, you get to meet Iroh today. That’s his uncle. But he and you are the only ones that know. I can’t tell anyone else. They’ll think I’m crazier than I already am….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and his dragon sit there for a while. Sokka stares at Zuko’s face, taking in the weathered statue and how lovely it looks after all of these years. He wonders if Zuko’s seen it in other lifetimes and had any of his memories roused, but that’s not something Sokka would know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a lot Sokka doesn’t know about Zuko’s most recent reincarnation, but there are a few things he’s taken account of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First off, it seems, like the Avatar, that souls reincarnate through the elements. This lifetime, Zuko would be from the Fire Nation again—Sokka’s managed to keep tabs. Barely, but enough to know that he’s coasted through all the other elements as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, they’d be the same age. They hadn’t been in the past few cycles, but they died the same year in their last lives. Sokka only knows this because Zuko’s death was announced in an obituary. He died not too long after….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But otherwise, there’s nothing else to go off of. The stars seem to be aligned—same age, same nations as they were when they first met. Spirits, they have the technology and social media to attempt to find each other. Everything’s fallen in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, Sokka hasn’t found him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will soon,” Sokka says under his breath. His eyes weigh heavy with sleep and tears and he’s nodding off, but he doesn’t have the time to take a nap. There are other things he needs to do before the sun rises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soon,” Sokka tells the statue one more time before standing up. The eternal flame in his hand flickers slightly—as if it were an acknowledgment from Zuko himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka walks away after giving the statue one last glance, Druk fluttering next to his shoulder and tucked under the umbrella over their heads. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drizzle thins out to a mist, then dissipates completely the closer Sokka gets to the Spirit Portal. The clouds part and a dim light casts down over the streets. It’s still too early to call it dawn, but Sokka knows it’ll be daytime when he walks out of the Spirit World. Maybe he should’ve left the house earlier, but he walks into the surrounding forest without reconsidering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something feels different about the forest today. While he passes down the walkway, fresh earth wafts through the air. The scent is a comfort to him—it’s pleasant and mellow, and while it doesn’t smell like the Spirit World, it still washes over him like a warm bath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as they approach the Portal, Druk lands on Sokka’s shoulder and prods his neck with his tail. Sokka glances at him in his peripheral. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk crawls further back into Sokka’s hoodie and burrows himself in the nape of his neck. Animals usually have a better sense of when something’s the matter; a tingle of anxiety works its way through Sokka. But then he remembers that Druk’s never been in the Spirit World. It’s probably just that. He shoves the worry aside to the best of his ability and takes a step in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Spirit World is so much brighter than the physical world—it doesn’t matter how many times Sokka’s stepped in before. He’s overwhelmed with the saturated blues and greens of the sky and the grass he stands on. It’s beautiful and brash and automatically lifts his spirits, and not much to his surprise, Druk peeks his head out of his hood before shooting out and flapping around in the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From where he stands, there’s a campsite to his left and a few people are sitting about, laughing over a fire. He could take a route that passes them but decides to turn the opposite direction and walks through some trees. It takes a couple of minutes to arrive at the small valley Iroh’s taken refuge in. (Small, really, is a lie, but with how the Spirit World indefinitely runs in all directions, any confined area would be “small.”)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh stands at a small table, handing tea cups out to spirits sitting about it. That’s how he usually spends his days. It used to fascinate Sokka how he had the ability to live among the spirits like this. That was the first time he found Iroh, at least. It was accidental—it was when Sokka was trying to find some answers. Now, though, Sokka wonders how he can live here without getting bored or sad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing there and wondering won’t do him any good, though. Druk seems to figure that out before he does and flies over to Iroh without hesitation. He props himself on his shoulder and Iroh turns to the small dragon. A smile takes over his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Iroh asks. That’s Sokka’s cue. He walks over to the table. A few spirits take account of his presence and acknowledge him. Sokka smiles at them and turns to Iroh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s Druk. I’ve told you about him before.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh holds his hand out to his shoulder and Druk hops into his palm. “You have a special place at the table, little friend. We can talk more after I hug your father.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lowering his hand to the table, Druk hops off and sits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Iroh turns his attention to Sokka. The smile falters into a straight face and his eyes sadden. He meets Sokka where he is and places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh pulls Sokka into his arms and for a moment, he stands there stiffly. Iroh doesn’t know the pain; he chose the Spirit World. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But...Sokka guesses he does know in his own way—Lu Ten, losing Zuko emotionally. Sokka melts into the hug and sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t been talkative lately. We don’t have to talk or we can—whatever makes you comfortable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh lets him go and sits at the table. Druk, right away, hops back onto his shoulder. Sokka drags his feet through the grass and comes to a chair next to Iroh. He flops down into it and lays half of his body across the table. Iroh sets a cup of tea near his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you do yesterday after our—my—talk?” Iroh asks. He was talking about how holding onto things you can’t change is bad, all that sort of stuff. Sokka had to leave when he got too emotional. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is where Iroh always opens the conversation to him, but he understands if Sokka won’t talk. And usually, he won’t. It’s been rough on him lately, thinking about Zuko. And while Iroh’s the only person he has, sometimes, looking at him makes his heart ache. Iroh and Zuko can look an awful lot alike at times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe this is where Sokka needs to open up again. Iroh’s always been there for him and holding it all in….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s rotting Sokka from the inside out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much,” Sokka says. He brings the cup to his lips and takes a sip. “The usual I guess. Dad taunting me, Mom comforting me after. The only difference is that...well...I feel like I’m such a failure. I guess I am.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh shifts into a chair right next to him at the same time Sokka bows his head. There’s a beat of silence and the extent of time is long enough for Sokka to grow curious; he lifts his head and notices the other spirits have disappeared; now, it’s Sokka, Iroh, and Druk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fate is a tricky thing, Sokka,” Iroh says. “Most of the time, it is out of our control.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If that’s so, why do I always have to remember?” Sokka says. He sets the cup down and slumps back in his chair. “I have some level of control and I always screw it up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why you’re always given another chance,” Iroh replies, sweeping Druk into his hand. He begins to stroke a finger along the dragon’s neck. “If it doesn’t work now, you get to try again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve tried again!” Sokka snaps. “I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve tried. I’ll try again in this life and the next and the one after that if I have to, but it’s been two hundred and sixty-seven years and I still haven’t found him. I’m always so close, but...every once in a while—rarely, I mean—I wonder. Is there even a reason to look anymore when I always fail?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh rests a hand atop Sokka’s and gives it a squeeze. Sokka looks away and closes his eyes, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It takes several tries to get the result you want, Sokka. You must remember that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand, chuckling. Zuko said something similar long ago. “I know. But it’s been so long. I don’t know if it’s even possible at this point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh doesn’t reply, and with each moment that passes, Sokka wonders if this is because he agrees. The anxiety eats at him—metastasizes until his entire body’s aching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, Iroh says this: “Maybe you’re taking the wrong approach.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka sniffs. “How?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me see,” Iroh says. Sokka faces him again and makes note of the pensiveness on his elder’s face. “From what I recall, once you find him, you want to befriend him and make him remember the past. Am I correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods. “Yeah. It seems reasonable to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you scare him the first time you tried that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first cycle Sokka remembers, he found Zuko. They were both old, but Sokka had to know—was he the only one to remember? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, he was. Only Sokka remembers and it makes it infinitely harder to find Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>rush</span>
  </em>
  <span> at him this time,” Sokka mutters, picking at a loose thread in the tablecloth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> remember?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stops, frozen to the spot. Just the very thought of not being able to make Zuko remember….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goosebumps cover his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-he’ll have to, Iroh. I promised I’d find him. He’ll remember once I help him. Why wouldn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh watches him with pity filled eyes and turns to look at Druk. “I just want to make sure it’s something you’d be prepared for. Would you still love him if his soul doesn’t cling to the past?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not possible,” Sokka whimpers; he stands up, hitting his knees against the table in the process. He curses under his breath before continuing. “I’ll make him remember, Iroh. I will. I can. I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holding onto the past can hurt you,” Iroh says, holding his Druk-filled palm up to Sokka. “I think you should reevaluate the reason you’re looking for him. Maybe it’s time to let go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m never letting go of Zuko,” Sokka says, snatching Druk from him. “The fact that you would even...I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t have come,” Sokka says. “I love you, Iroh, but...I have to find him and you’re wrong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh’s gaze sinks to the table cloth, but no frown crosses his lips. He doesn’t seem phased. Really, he looks like he expected it; an irrational lick of anger blossoms in Sokka’s stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be here for you when you need me,” Iroh says serenely. “I’ll have some ginseng tea ready. I know it’s hard to think about what I said, but don’t ignore it either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka leaves before Iroh can say anything further. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rain returned while Sokka was in the Spirit World; it comes down even harder than it had when he first left the Green House. It’s near impossible to navigate around the city, and when the wind tears up the umbrella, he has to walk through it. Each drop feels like a laceration against his face and within seconds, he’s drenched to the bone. Poor little Druk is all wet too. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This entire morning was a bad idea</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks bitterly, trudging through inches of water. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All of it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes him forever to get back home, and when he walks through the backdoor, his mother’s already there with towels. Not enough, it seems, because Sokka looks like he’s been swimming with his clothes on. She watches him with sorry eyes and when she could easily say, “I told you so,” she doesn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, she asks, “Where’s the umbrella?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The wind broke it,” Sokka says, peeling his hoodie off. Druk’s nestled in the crook of his neck, shivering; he needs to get him back up to the room so he can get warm, so he holds up the hoodie, asking, “Where can I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s mom takes it before he can finish. “Please bring the rest of your things down once you’re in something dry, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rolls with the punches. He puts Druk back in his tank, changes into warm and dry clothes, and takes everything down to the laundry room without really thinking about it. Going about, moving around, but the minute his bedroom door closes behind him, his head starts to spin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tears through the room and up to the window nonetheless and gazes down upon the sea. It’s rough and choppy; the rain stirs up seafoam within the waves. He knows that the sea isn’t always smooth, but when he needs the calmness of gentle waves breaking against the shore, he gets a storm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka collapses at the window and rests his forehead against the pane. He stares at the waves breaking violently against the shore and a sweeping sense of anguish tears through his chest like a shot to the heart. A cry works its way up his esophagus and as hard as he fights it, pain wins. His cries are quiet at first. Nothing but whimpers and quiet sobs. But the longer he sits there, the more he falls apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could Iroh dare say that Zuko wouldn’t remember? Of course he would! Eventually, and with time. But he will. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> he will. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But what if he doesn’t?</span>
  </em>
  <span> a quiet voice asks him, and he wishes he could drown it out. (A part of him wants to stick his head in the ocean and scream until the thought goes away.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the question, he guesses, is one that needed to be asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What if Zuko doesn’t remember?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Sokka will do what he can to help him, and if he doesn’t, they’ll just have to figure it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Sokka ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> find Zuko. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, I lied. </p><p>I didn't lie lie, but surprise?</p><p>I posted on Saturday as a treat, but it will usually be Sundays. </p><p>Anyway, y'all like Druk?</p><p>Don't forget to follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka">Twitter</a>!</p><p>See you next Sunday!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Last Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last few days of summer slip away without much fuss. Sokka stays in his room—per usual—basking in the light of either the moon or the sun, reading one of those chunky history books he’s torn through several times before. </p><p>The only time he leaves is to get food or pick up his clean clothes from the laundry room, but otherwise, he keeps to himself. </p><p>His mother comes up a few times, staying in the room for only minutes at a time. There’s not much said, mostly helpless glances and forehead kisses before she leaves to give him space again. Occasionally muttering something about family dinner, but Sokka never goes down; he eats alone. </p><p>Well, not alone—he has Druk. They tend to do most things together since they had their mini-adventure. The two eat together—Sokka human food, and Druk mice and fruits. While Sokka sits by the window and reads, the dragon usually likes to lay in the sun spots.  </p><p>Even now Druk’s perched atop the closet door, observing Sokka. It’s the first day of his last year of college, and while he’s not fazed by it, he knows his parents want him to dress nicely. His mother wants him to impress professors; his father wants him to keep appearances. </p><p>Everything’s about keeping appearances, and while Sokka usually defies them and is met with chastising resistance and nothing more, his father slams his foot down at unkempt clothing—particularly on days like this. So, Sokka pulls out the designer clothes: the thousand dollar sweater, the dark washed jeans. </p><p>Staring back at him in the mirror after putting on his rich people shit is a man that looks like a million bucks, but only in the literal sense of the phrase. Sokka tuts at himself and pulls his hair back into its wolf tail. </p><p>At the same time, there’s a quiet rap at the door. </p><p>“Come in,” Sokka says, wrapping the elastic around a final time. </p><p>“Oh,” his mother says. “I can’t believe it.” </p><p>Sokka turns to her as she approaches him. Her eyes are watery and she’s smiling so big, he can see her gums. She pulls him into a hug before he can register how close she is.</p><p>“It’s just school,” Sokka says.</p><p>“Maybe so, but you’re almost finished.” Sokka’s mom pulls him even closer and stands on her toes, giving him a kiss on his temple. “I’m so proud of you. I know these last years have been so hard...but please know, I’m proud.” </p><p>Sokka deflates ever so slightly—his shoulders slouch forward like he’s already wearing his backpack. “Thanks.” </p><p>She gives a gentle pat to his freshly shaven cheek and smiles again. “Are you leaving right now?” </p><p>Pulling out his phone, Sokka catches a glimpse at the time; his first class is in an hour and a half and he needs to catch a train to get to the university. The sooner the better, really (he can browse the new selection of history books at the library if he gets there early). So, he nods. </p><p>The brightness in his mother’s face dims, her brow furrowing. “Do you possibly have any time to go to your father’s office? He wants to talk to you.” </p><p>Sokka turns from her and slams the closet door shut. Druk emits a small roar that sounds more like a squeak and flies directly at Sokka’s face. He ducks back and catches Druk. “Hey! I’m sorry.” </p><p>Druk bites the webbing between his thumb and forefinger and Sokka lets go with a hiss. </p><p>“Sokka.” </p><p>“I don’t want to see him,” Sokka says, turning to stuff his backpack with what he needs for class.</p><p>“He’d like it if you’d go. I’m sure it’ll be quick.”</p><p>Sokka huffs. <em> Why do parents always ask us to do things when they won’t take no for an answer? </em> he thinks, latching his backpack closed. “ <em> Fine </em>.”</p><p>Sokka stomps past his mother all the way to his father’s office. It’s in a different wing of the house, up towards the front where official business is handled. It’s all hallways and portraits of founding fathers and mothers. The only time he comes up this way is if he wants a trip down memory lane...or if he’s summoned by his father.</p><p>When he finally approaches the door to his father’s office, he doesn’t bother knocking. He kicks the door in, only to find himself staring at Zuko’s statue on a projector screen. </p><p>Sokka gulps. </p><p>“You are not a two-year-old, Hahn. I thought you’ve learned to respect the furniture,” his father says, standing from his desk. He’s wearing a suit and not a hair is out of place. While he’s wearing a facade of calmness, his jaw’s set. </p><p>Sokka’s muscles tighten, his fists clenching at his side as he narrows his eyes. “I have classes. Were you going to wish me a good last first day?”</p><p>“Sit <em> down </em>,” his father says.</p><p>Knowing full well that it’s a childish thing to do, Sokka kicks the door closed behind him and throws all of his weight into the chair when he plops down on it. His father flinches both times and Sokka smiles in satisfaction. </p><p>“What’s with the statue, Old Man?” Sokka asks, leaning back into the chair. He crosses his legs and briefly looks at the screen—it’s hard to look at it for too long. </p><p>“If you wanted me to be happy about your classes, you wouldn’t stir up problems like this!” His father zooms out from Zuko’s face and reveals the whole picture—the whole screen. It’s a news article and it reads: <em> FIRST SON FOUND LEAVING CAKE AT THE FOOT OF FORMER FIRE LORD ZUKO’S STATUE YET AGAIN </em> — <em> WHY? </em></p><p>Sokka tears his eyes from the screen, fingernails digging into his palms. </p><p>“We already know the First Son is a bit peculiar,” his father reads; it makes Sokka nauseous (so he <em> was </em> being followed), “but we still don’t have an answer on why he visits the statue every year. All we can say is that it’s odd—”</p><p>“Why do you care what a stupid <em> tabloid </em> says?” Sokka asks, stomping his suspending foot back onto the ground. “And why do you—”</p><p>“I don’t subscribe to the ‘any press is good press’ idea,” his father says. “This is embarrassing. This needs to <em> stop </em>. The news should be writing about your last year in college, not you...you”—he waves his hand at the screen—“paying homage to a dead Fire Lord. And on the same day every year!”</p><p>Sokka’s head hangs low. Each word cuts deeper and deeper into him until he’s a bleeding mess. He sits in the chair, trying to stay there in the room—he grips tighter on the arms of the chair and the fabric pokes at his skin. He tries to stare at the ground. </p><p>“Don’t you want a date for the charity gala? Need I remind you that it's only in a month? No one’s going to want to go with you if you continue getting caught doing <em> odd </em>stuff like this so close to when it's happening!” </p><p>“STOP IT!”</p><p>Sokka’s words reverberate throughout the room, and even though the door’s closed, probably into the hall. He’s never reacted this way before and it shocks the pair of them. Sokka and his father stare at each other with wide eyes.</p><p>His father goes to say something, but Sokka stands. “<em> Don’t </em>.” </p><p>“Then don’t embarrass me—”</p><p>“What did I just say?!”</p><p>The President’s eyes narrow to slits. He tries to say something again, but Sokka talks over him. </p><p>“You’re a shitty father. I hope you know that. I don’t care about bringing a date to that stupid fucking gala and I don’t care if you think I’m <em> odd </em> , weird, whatever, for doing something that matters to me.” A lump forms in his throat; he tries to swallow it, but it stays. “I shouldn’t care. I know I shouldn’t. But it kind of hurts that you don’t sit down and wonder, <em> Huh, </em> why <em> is my son a weirdo? </em> Instead, you belittle me like it’ll make me stop!’”</p><p>“Hahn—”</p><p>“<em> No! </em>” A few tears roll down Sokka’s cheeks. “You put me through so much shit—”</p><p>“You’re the luckiest kid in the world,” his father barks. </p><p>“How?!” Sokka asks. “Tell me how.” </p><p>Sokka’s father glares at him for about a minute and Sokka stares back with the same intensity. But he waits, leaning forward against the chair. </p><p>“What clothes are you wearing? Where are you right now? Who’s paying for your college?” </p><p>Sokka almost throws the chair across the room. <em> Almost </em> . He <em> does </em> grip the back of the seat. “None of that matters!” </p><p>“Would you like to pay for those things yourself?”</p><p>“Sure! Why the fuck not? But don’t you see that it wouldn’t matter?  I’m not <em> happy </em>. It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing or where I am. I’m depressed and you think that calling me "odd" and pointing out every single flaw...you think...you...you….”</p><p>Sokka veers around so he doesn’t have to look at that man. His body starts to tremble. What’s the point of fighting? It’ll never get through his father’s thick skull.</p><p>“I hope you know I hate you,” Sokka says, “and at this point, you can’t do anything to change that.” </p><p>Sokka slips out of the office and slams the door behind him. He sprints back to his room, the tears stinging his eyes so badly he just wants to shut them.</p><p>While he runs, many words circle around in his head.</p><p><em> Odd </em>. </p><p><em> Lucky </em>.</p><p><em> Hate </em>. </p><p>So much <em> hatred </em>; Sokka’s never told him that he hates him before. Not directly. </p><p>Sokka slams the bedroom door behind him and rushes to the bookshelf ladder closest to him. He scales it and peeks around the shelves until he finds what he wants—a scrapbook of sorts. Illustrations and letters—all original—to and from Sokka when he was still himself. (He “stole” it a few years back—he justifies it with the fact that it’s technically his and it’s not stealing until his father’s out of office, but nonetheless.) </p><p>He hops down from the ladder and sits on the edge of his bed, flipping open to the page containing a letter between him and Hakoda. Sokka usually only misses Zuko, but when he’s faced with Hahn Sr., he misses the comfort Hakoda gave him. Just seeing his scrawl stirs up a dull pain. Hakoda wouldn’t have ever treated him like this.</p><p>“Sokka.” </p><p>He hadn’t heard the door open, nor noticed the footsteps, but his mother puts a hand on his shoulder. He flinches. </p><p>“I didn’t know he would—I’m so sorry.” </p><p>A hacking sob works its way out of Sokka. “Why not? That’s all he ever does.” </p><p>She takes Sokka’s cheeks between her hands and tilts his head upwards. Pure regret pools in her eyes, and pain. There’s pain there. It’s lined in her face. She leans in and kisses Sokka’s forehead.  “My beautiful boy. I hate seeing you like this. But, I need you to understand that I feel helpless. I don’t know what I <em> can </em> do to help. If you told us—” </p><p>“I can’t,” Sokka says, tilting his face down and out of her grasp. “I want to, but I can’t.”</p><p>“Is someone threatening you?” she asks, a serious tone overtaking her voice. “Are you in danger?”</p><p>“No!” Sokka says, shaking his head. “No. No. I’m not in danger and no one’s threatening me….”</p><p>Sokka just wants to feel normal again and he doesn't think he’s able to. Not when he only feels himself when he dives headfirst into his own history, or fawns over things that made him <em> Sokka </em>. Not when now he’s friendless when he used to be surrounded by love; not when he doesn’t have Zuko. The only taste of normalcy he has is when he dwells on the past.</p><p>There’s nothing more Sokka would love to do than tell his mother everything, but she wouldn’t believe him. So, what’s the point of it? </p><p>“I don’t know if this will mean anything to you, but I’ll never judge you for what you have to say. I love you and I only want to help you. So, if you want to talk to me or a therapist—”</p><p>“Divorce Hahn.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Sokka flushes—he had no intention of saying that aloud. But he doubles down. “Divorce him.” </p><p>His mother draws her hands back and looks away. “There’s a lot that goes into that, Sokka.” </p><p><em> Like what? </em> Sokka thinks. </p><p>“Anyway,” she says, giving one more kiss on the head. “Have a good day at school. The Warriors are waiting in the back to escort you. If you need anything, text me.” </p><p> </p><p>Republic City’s changed over time, but from the very beginning, it’s been incredibly metropolitan—skyscrapers, public transportation, expansive amounts of land for railway tracks to run across. While those aspects of the city are fundamental, there are changes that are rather blatant; chain restaurants started to appear, and gentrified neighborhoods, and about one hundred fifty years ago, Republic City University. It’s situated in the historical district and isn’t too far from the Southern Water Tribe Cultural Center. Sokka spent much of his childhood around the area—his mother used to take him all of the time, but after his father assumed office, they grew too busy.</p><p> The Green House is situated on the tip of the peninsula, not too far from everything that a First Son would need in his general vicinity—everything but RCU. The historical district sits north of the peninsula and requires a train or Sato in order to cross the strait. The train moves faster, and while it’s not too much of an issue, there’s still a lack of privacy when getting there. </p><p>Sokka and his Kyoshi Warriors have to work through the lunch break bustle in the station not too far from the Green House, and as he pushes through the shoulders of everyday civilians, he gets looks. </p><p>They’re never too cruel, the looks they give him, but they’re judgemental nonetheless. Furrowed brows, quick glances, too long stares. The looks are fleeting but it’s constant. Even as Sokka takes a seat in a private carriage, people who pass the window peer in for a second before hurrying on by. </p><p>“What did you do this time?” Solan, the taller of the Warriors, asks, pulling the blind down. </p><p>“It’s the secret anniversary between him and Fire Lord Zuko,” Imula, her counterpart, answers.</p><p>“<em> Hey </em>,” Sokka says. </p><p>Solan looks at him and smiles awkwardly. Imula says, “Am I wrong?”</p><p>Sokka huffs and ignores the Warriors the rest of the way. </p><p> </p><p>When Sokka arrives on campus, he’s only a few minutes early—no time to check out the library’s new historical selections. He has to run across campus, Warriors in tow. It’s a sight to be seen as he runs past statues and restaurants and bookstores, and he only stops when he notices something he hasn’t seen before. </p><p>The Kyoshi Warriors nearly run into him when he comes to a full stop to gauge the newly opened Jasmine Dragon situated right next to the double doors he needs to enter.</p><p><em> Iroh’s going to hate this </em>, Sokka thinks, a smile tugging at his lips. But then the memories of rejecting Iroh resurface. The smile falters and he walks the rest of his way to class. </p><p>There’s not much new about the classes he’s in. The faces are the same, and every single semester, they all seem so gobsmacked that they’re in a class with the First Son. They go over the syllabus, and may break into what they should expect the day after tomorrow, but that’s rare. Sokka gets his typical, “Don’t expect me to lighten your load because of your status,” speeches after class.  It’s all very monotonous. </p><p>It’s all very...normal. Not Sokka’s preferred mode of normal, but he appreciates it in its own way. </p><p>The only thing that breaks up the uniformity is the constant surveillance under the Warriors. Anytime he moves, they do, too. They remain outside the rooms, thank Agni, but it’s annoying nonetheless.</p><p>Now, as Sokka treks into the library, they follow him up to the historical archives. </p><p>He rolls his eyes as they approach its glass doors, standing on either side of him. “You’re not going to follow me in, right?”</p><p>“We never do,” Imula replies. </p><p>“But you followed me into the library.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Solan says. “Because the library’s big.” </p><p>Sokka groans and throws himself through the double doors. </p><p>If Sokka’s not romping around the history section in the local part of the library, he’s in the archives. Republic City’s is massive, but a lot of it is digital, so it doesn’t look like much. Regardless, heavy books (much like the ones he has all over his room) take up the wooden bookshelves. </p><p>He plans to stay there for a few minutes, stroll around and look at new historical documents they’ve obtained, but when his mother sends a text asking him to have a family dinner, he decides to spend the next few hours amongst the hundred year old books. He grabs a few of interest and finds the comfiest chair in the archives. Within minutes, he’s lost in the pages, absorbing his own history from a different perspective.</p><p>Sokka reads until the sun settles behind the horizon and the moon shines brightly in the sky. No one’s disturbed him, but when he lifts his head from the book he's reading, he notices the archivist sitting about on his phone. </p><p>“What time is it?” Sokka asks, understanding he’s overstayed his welcome. He stands and begins to dart around, putting the books back in the places he found them. </p><p>“Only eight,” the archivist says dryly. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sokka says sincerely. He slings his backpack over his shoulder. “I just—”</p><p>“I know,” the archivist says, opening the door open for Sokka. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”</p><p>“Probably,” Sokka says, and the minute he steps out of the room, the door’s locked behind him. </p><p>While the library stays open 24/7, the floor the archive’s situated on is closed. Usually, there are students littered about with white boards and mountains of homework; now, the tables are empty and the lights are out. </p><p>And the Kyoshi Warriors are nowhere to be seen. </p><p>While it’s a bit of a relief, Sokka can’t help but wonder where they are. <em> Hopefully they left </em>, Sokka thinks, hopping down the stairwell step by step. </p><p>They’re not outside of the library, either. </p><p>A bit of excitement stirs in Sokka’s chest. He’s never been in public without them like this—not while there are still students stumbling about the common. A grin spreads across his face; he would like to thank them for their lack of due diligence as he saunters across the campus and towards the train station until he sees them standing there, leaning against a black cab. </p><p>Imula notices Sokka and nudges Solan, nodding in his direction. </p><p>The two start to make their way over, and while he could easily meet them halfway, he’s stuck to the spot. </p><p>An inexplicable feeling begins to stir within his stomach, like a magnet deflecting its polar likeness. The closer they get to him, the more he wants to back away, so he does, and with the push also comes a pull. Something—it feels like—is pulling him back as well.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Imula asks. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Sokka answers half facetiously, half sincere. </p><p>“You’re twenty-two years old, Sokka,” Solan says, stomping up to him. “Stop acting like a toddler.”</p><p>But she’s not able to get too close—the minute she’s able to reach out and grab him, he’s running in the opposite direction. </p><p>There’s nothing to explain it. Sokka’s been annoyed with their constant presence, sure, but it feels as if he’s being yanked around. He runs around the hall, across the courtyard, and right to the doors of the Jasmine Dragon. </p><p>Something about the Jasmine Dragon feels like the polar opposite his body was looking for. He takes a step into the store. The tinkling of a bell announces his arrival, but no one’s in the front, so he takes a look around. </p><p>It’s nothing like the Jasmine Dragon he knows. It has a red interior with black detailing and the walls are narrow and crowded. He knows it doesn’t <em> have </em> to look like the original, but he wishes they would’ve at least <em> tried </em>. </p><p>While Sokka’s looking around, his eyes land on an employee who’s just wandered in from the back, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he has a customer. There’s something about the person, too, something that makes Sokka want to step closer. The urge churns in his stomach, not an unpleasant feeling, and it’s one he hardly recognizes, but he’s felt it before—three times before. </p><p>The sudden realization rolls through his body like a hot flash and makes his heart pound so hard against his chest that he’s sure anyone a few feet from him can hear. He tries to suppress the sheer excitement pulsing through his body, but he speaks before he can stop himself.</p><p>“ZUKO!"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here I am, again, posting early. </p><p>Oops but not oops. </p><p>Also: ZUKO!!!</p><p>I asked this earlier, but no one answered so I'll ask it again--would anyone be interested in a "Question of the Chapter" where I ask y'all questions? </p><p>For example (and answer this if you want): How do you think Zuko's going to react to Sokka? How do you think Sokka's gonna react? </p><p>I just really like being interactive in the comments, that's all. </p><p>Also, here's Imula: </p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>and here's Solan: </p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>(I love them.) </p><p>Okay, see you next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I Just Don't Know What to Do With Myself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content Warning: throw up</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sokka can’t feel his legs, but he knows they’re taking him directly to Zuko. He feels dizzy, and fuck, he’s nauseous, but after all these years, he can’t hold himself back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just before he can actually jump over the cash wrap and tackle Zuko, a jut of fire shoots in his direction. The overwhelming joy shifts into sudden fear and he collapses just before he can taste the flames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s head hits the floor with a thud. His throat constricts, and the smell of singed hair makes his stomach flip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for Agni’s sake,” the man says, and his voice sounds all too familiar</span>
  <span>—heartbreakingly familiar. Tears blur Sokka’s vision and he can’t help but scream at himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get it together! He’s going to think you’re insane!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But when Zuko leans over him, he can’t help but emit a sob. He claps his hand over his mouth, his face hot under his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks, taking in Zuko’s energy. Breathing it in. Sokka could smile, laugh, cry. What he really wants to do is pull Zuko in and never let go again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then Sokka remembers and reminds himself: </span>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn’t remember anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Zuko rasps, panic in his voice, and he sounds just the same—he can’t mistake that voice for anyone else’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko doesn’t look much different, either. His eyes are the same shade of gold—</span>
  <em>
    <span>windows to the soul</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks as he stares into them—but he lacks the painful scar surrounding his left eye. His face is fuller—his body plump and taken care of. And those lips. Sokka spent years staring at them. He stares at them now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a coincidence—is it fate?—that they aren’t so different after being years apart. Not that it mattered to Sokka. He’ll take Zuko any way he comes, and he’ll take the man before him. Without question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After years, hundreds of </span>
  <em>
    <span>painful</span>
  </em>
  <span> years, they’re finally here—Sokka can’t quite believe it—even if he’s laying on the cool tile floor of a chain tea shop and no recognition of their life together wavers in Zuko’s gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck,” he says, and each time he speaks it’s like a bandage placed on the deep cuts etched into Sokka’s soul. “Your eyebrow. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s thumb hovers by his cheek and he can feel the static between his skin and Zuko’s. He presses the pad of his thumb over Sokka’s eyebrow and he stifles a gasp—it feels like electricity bolting through his body. It’s exhilarating. Sokka wants more. He almost pulls Zuko’s hand down to his cheek just so he can absorb some of him, but then a wave of nausea hits him and his esophagus tightens. He attempts to roll over, but before he can, he’s heaving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko rolls Sokka onto his side and rubs circles into his back with a trembling hand. His touch is both intoxicating and heightens his nerves. He heaves again, and while he feels like he should be embarrassed, there are far too many other things roaming through his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m...I’m so sorry,” Zuko says again in a tight voice. “I have a shirt in the back you can wear. Oh my Agni. I...I didn’t mean to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you get me that shirt you were talking about?” Sokka asks, weakly rolling onto his back once he’s sure he won’t throw up again. He stares back into Zuko’s eyes and when he was only </span>
  <em>
    <span>seeing</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zuko before, he gets a </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> at him now. It’s not a pretty sight. He’s trembling like a leaf and guilt drips from the expression he’s wearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me a minute.” Zuko stumbles to his feet and rushes to the back, leaving Sokka alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that Zuko’s out of his general vicinity, Sokka can try and function like a human being again rather than an absolute mess. He sits up and peels his sweater off. He gives it one look and gags. </span>
  <em>
    <span>At least it gives me a good reason to get rid of this</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He uses it to mop some of the mess off of the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” Zuko returns just as Sokka sets the sopping sweater aside. Another wave of nausea tides over Sokka, but he swallows the lump in his throat and the feeling washes back. He needs a little more time to try and recollect before facing Zuko again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his bodily reaction, the want to pull him in, Sokka knows with every fiber of his being: that </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s your mop? I don’t want you to have to clean up my vomit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vomiting’s not a good sign after hitting your head. I really think you should sit down and let me,” Zuko says, a hint of assertion in his voice. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> reminds Sokka of </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. But where can I put this?” Sokka asks, holding up the puke-y sweater. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he still hasn’t faced Zuko again, he can practically hear him shudder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...uh. I’ll get a bag for you to put it in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko disappears again and Sokka leans back onto his palms with a sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While it is an indisputable fact backed up by the cosmic force flowing through Sokka’s body that this is, indeed, Zuko, there’s one thing that’s incredibly different: his attitude. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s shy, not cowardly, but quieter than <em>his</em> Zuko. It’s probably because he’s not burdened with childhood trauma and filled with pent-up anger; <em>good</em>, but it’s odd not being met with a bothered barista. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that Sokka’s a little more grounded, he turns towards Zuko when he hears his footsteps get closer. He pushes himself off of the ground and faces Zuko; that’s when he realizes he’s also taller than him now. Some self-satisfaction rouses in his chest, but he suppresses the smirk that twitches at his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-here,” Zuko says, handing over the bag. His eyes are glued to something else, Sokka realizes: his torso. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something else rouses up in him, but Sokka has to keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> at bay—there are several other feelings running rampant inside him and he has yet to address any of those. He’s too high on the fact that this is happening to really feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes the bag, stuffs the shirt into it, and holds it up. “Where’s the trash?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Zuko shows Sokka where everything is, he throws away his sweater, goes to wash up, and pulls on the shirt Zuko provided. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s big on him, he notices when he takes a look in the mirror. It hangs off of him and lands at around the mid-thigh. Zuko’s things used to be too small for him. He wraps his arms around himself and inhales. The shirt smells like clean linens with a twinge of floral musk. Warmth fills his chest, and as he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, there’s a bit more life in his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, it hits him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beyond the bathroom door, working behind that counter, is Sokka’s everything. New and shiny, but oh so beautiful. Sokka wants to pull him in by the hips and give him the kiss he never was able to bestow upon him in past lives. He wants to hold him to his chest and tell him how long he’s been looking for him. There are so many things he wants to do, but as he leans onto the sink and looks himself in the eyes, he reminds himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t remember.” Sokka blinks a few times and watches his reflection. Tears line his waterline and his bottom lip juts out and trembles. “You’re going to confuse him,” he tells his reflection. “Just. Be normal. Try to be normal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Be normal and remember that he’s not your Zuko. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not yet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka spends a couple more minutes in the restroom, talking himself down. Patting his face with cool water. Trying to work out the jumble of emotions tangled and coiled around so tight in his chest that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a hesitant knock at the door that disrupts Sokka from his thoughts. “Mr. Marniq? Are you okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The word </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mister</span>
  </em>
  <span> makes Sokka cringe. And hearing his last name. He only usually hears it when he’s being introduced at some official government event. He pulls the door open to find Zuko standing there with a mint in his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka chortles. “Is that for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is what…?” Zuko looks down at his hand. “Oh, yeah. I thought that maybe since...you know.” He holds out the mint with a crooked smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Sokka takes it and pops it in his mouth. “Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko blushes. “Yeah. Uh. I cleaned and all.” </span>
</p><p><span>Sokka doesn’t know why Zuko’s telling him that, but it’s cute. The nervousness. The blushing. He hasn’t seen him flustered like this in a while. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Also,” he continues, slapping his hand against the back of his neck, “do you want a drink? On the house.” </span></p><p>
  <span>If that gives him a good excuse to spend a few more minutes around Zuko, he’ll take it. “Yeah. I’d love that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko trails back behind the counter and Sokka takes a seat at one of the tables closest to it—he also finds his backpack propped up on one of the chairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really am sorry,” Zuko says, fumbling about behind the counter. His hands shake while making the drink and he almost drops the cup a few times. The more Sokka watches Zuko, the more his heart hurts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is he so scared?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko eventually comes over with a cup and a straw and places them on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just—you ran toward me and I thought I was going to get tackled and—please don’t have me arrested.” Fear oozes from Zuko’s words, his eyes wide. His hands continue to tremble at his sides, and seeing him so absolutely terrified strikes an ache through Sokka’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without thinking much about it, he reaches out and takes Zuko’s hands between his. They shake ferociously in his grasp. “Please don’t be scared. I actually like it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s taken aback. He draws his chin towards his chest. “Like...</span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! The eyebrow slit you gave me.” Sokka points to where Zuko singed his eyebrow off before taking his hand in his again. “I think it’s kind of...</span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko still doesn’t look quite convinced. His brow furrows and his hands still tremble, but he’s blushing. And Sokka </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinks</span>
  </em>
  <span> he picks up on his pun because he shifts a little. “Uh...yeah—I mean, not that it’s hot. On you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not hot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I mean!” Zuko says, squirming in his skin. It’s funny to see him get so worked up. Sokka can’t help the grin that crosses his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m kidding. And seriously, it’s fine. Do you want to sit with me?” Sokka asks. He pulls the backpack down from the chair. “I mean, there aren’t any customers….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko blinks at him a few times before wordlessly sitting down. Sokka continues to hold onto his hands. Even those feel familiar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to have you arrested. I promise. And also...please don’t be afraid of me. I’m normal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You charged at me and called me Zuko,” Zuko says, now feeling a tad more comfortable—Sokka knows. His hands stopped shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka, however, withdraws his hands, his face heating up. “I thought you were a friend I have. Named Zuko.” Sokka gulps. That’s such a shit cover and Zuko, surely, knows he’s lying. Everyone knows about Sokka’s...</span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name’s Lee,” Zuko says, mild curiosity blanketing his features. One eyebrow raises. Sokka praises the Spirits that Zuko’s intrigued and not freaked out. But also. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee?” Sokka says, holding back a snort. How ironic is it that he shares a name with his Ba Sing Se alias? He must be smiling because Zuko looks downright confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah—how hard did you hit your head?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stops smiling. “Not hard...not too hard. It doesn’t hurt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you should get it checked out,” Zuko says, standing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Sokka says, taking a hold of Zuko’s wrist. He’s gentle with him, and while he’s stiff under Sokka’s touch at first, he relaxes. “I’m Sokka, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The confusion fades and a soft smile replaces it. “I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Yeah. Sokka runs his hand over his head and stutters an exhale. “Okay. I’m gonna try this drink now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko gives him a once-over and </span>
  <em>
    <span>giggles</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s nervous and sweet and makes Sokka’s heart flip-flop. “Okay, you do that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Sokka tries his drink—which tastes </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty </span>
  </em>
  <span>good—Zuko disappears behind the counter, ass in the air as he frantically moves around. Sokka watches him, mindlessly sipping on his boba until he pops back up with a handful of small papers. He shuffles back toward the table when Sokka’s trying to suck up the last pearl in his drink and hands him a fistful of coupons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes them and smiles. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like your name, by the way,” Zuko says, running his hand through his hair—Sokka catches the slightest sight of an undercut and just the thought of him having one nearly makes him zone out, but he tunes back into Zuko. “He’s actually my favorite war veteran of the Hundred Years’ War, so when you changed it to that I thought it was cool. Also, you look like him a lot, I think. Or...you look a lot like the statue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko turns a bright shade of pink before his eyes and Sokka can feel the same burning sensation that comes with the blush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a lot to unpack there, but his heart begins to flutter. It almost hurts. He wants to smile so bad, but Zuko already thinks he’s weird so maybe this is his chance to leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...uh. Thank you,” Sokka says, standing. He notices the slightest bit of a pout—Zuko’s brows sink down. “I was supposed to have dinner with my parents so I should probably get going. I’ll come back, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s eyebrows relocate to where they typically sit and the slightest hint of a smile crosses his lips. If it’s possible, he blushes harder. “Okay. I work every day after five.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s heart skips a beat; why is Zuko giving him his schedule?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make sure to come in then,” Sokka replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And why is Sokka flirting?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he’s out of the Jasmine Dragon, Sokka’s slapped in the face with the cool evening air and while it’s refreshing, it also has him stunned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What just happened?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to be executed, Sokka.” Imula slaps a hand on his shoulder and he jumps. “I don’t know in what fashion but I’ve gotten a few phone calls from your parents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka barely registers what she says because he’s not even thinking of going home. He needs to talk to Iroh because now that he has Zuko pinned—what </span>
  <em>
    <span>now?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He has a plan, he does, but how does he start—where? He’s never gotten this far and now Zuko’s right under his thumb even after he almost threw up on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whose shirt is that?” Solan asks. “What happened to your sweater?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula cackles. “Ooh, you’re going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sokka!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet,” Sokka says, a second wind rolling through. He stands up straighter than he has in years (maybe lifetimes) and looks directly at Solan. “We’re going to the Spirit Portal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula rolls her eyes. “Oh my Spirits, </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to talk to someone there,” Sokka says, pushing past them. Both of them grunt in frustration, but Sokka’s on a mission and only Iroh knows how to help him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s there, anyway?” Solan asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Iroh,” Sokka says, hopping into the black cab that’ll take them to the train station. There’s no use in lying to them, is there? Anyone could find him if they cared enough. Not that he’d talk to anyone other than Sokka without good reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Iroh?” Solan sits beside him—Imula takes the passenger seat. “Like, which one?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dragon of the West. Jasmine Dragon guy,” Sokka says, sipping on his tea. He’s vibrating a little in his seat, thinking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can we go already?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula wrenches around and gives Sokka the biggest “what a fucking weirdo” look that can’t be expressed through words, but it’s pretty belittling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Sokka asks. He goes to take another sip of his drink, but the cab lurches forward and he isn’t in the mood to deepthroat a straw, so he refrains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How in the world would you...I...Iroh? Like the Hundred Years’ War Iroh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shrugs nonchalantly, but he crosses his legs and his free-hanging foot jiggles about. “He didn’t die.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he did!” Solan says. “You’ve officially gone off the deep end, Sokka. We’re going to go home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll run off again!” Sokka threatens and means it—this is of utmost importance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula wears the face of defeat. She glances at Solan and shakes her head. “We’ll get fired if he’s not protected—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His parents want him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m an adult!” Sokka snaps; he sees the driver flinch a little in his peripheral. “You’re either going with me or I’ll go without you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my Agni, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>! But you’re going to have to explain—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka holds his hands up. “I’m. An. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Adult</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I can handle it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the ride to the train station and back to the peninsula is silent. The Warriors quietly seethe—scowling at him any time he takes a glance in their direction—while Sokka peers out of the window, watching the rush of city lights blur across the train window. All he can think as the train zooms to the station is, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I need Iroh. I need to talk to him. I have Zuko</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>now what? Iroh will know!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s practically a child left alone in an amusement park the minute he hops off the train. He has the inclination to run, but as he gets ready to, Solan grabs him by the shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not running this time,” she says with an authoritative tone. “Let’s get this over with.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three start marching towards the thicket of trees surrounding the Portal side by side and any time Sokka tries to advance, one or both of the Warriors pull him back by the wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka is only able to bound off before them once he’s amongst the trees. They stand just outside the perimeter of the forest, and as soon as he’s out of sight, he starts </span>
  <em>
    <span>sprinting</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka sprints through the trees, into the Spirit World, and doesn’t stop running until he comes to Iroh’s wooden table laden with foods and tea. Sokka almost runs </span>
  <em>
    <span>into</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, but he throws himself to the ground and rolls out the remaining speed in him. Rolling onto his back, Sokka pants and stares up into the crystalline sky—not a cloud in sight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have ginseng tea, just like I promised,” Iroh says, leaning over into Sokka’s path of vision. He smiles down at Sokka and holds a hand out. “Your face tells me that you’ve got good news.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka huffs out a breath and takes Iroh’s hand. He’s pulled to his feet in one swift motion and glances at the table. There’s a spot cleared off for him, a steaming cup of tea set in the middle of the food-free space. He takes a seat and tries to catch his breath. Iroh takes his spot right next to Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Sokka’s not erratically breathing, he takes the teacup in his hands and cradles it. He doesn’t know what to tell Iroh—he doesn’t know where to begin. But Iroh doesn’t look rushed. He wears the face of a blissed-out old man, but there’s always something behind that look—unwarranted knowledge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spirits, he probably already knows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka opens his mouth to tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka snaps his mouth shut and sets the cup back on the tabletop. “How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh shrugs. “I live in the Spirit World. Also, I haven’t seen you so vibrant in lifetimes. I assume all went well?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ehhh…”  An awkward smile graces Sokka’s face. “More or less. But...how do I go about this? What do I do? Here’s right here, Iroh. Now what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh lifts his own teacup to his mouth and takes a long swig; he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to know that Sokka’s awaiting his advice, sitting at the edge of his seat, but he takes his time to smack his tongue and set the teacup down. “There is a new type of tea I found recently and next time you come, I think you should try—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I-rohhhhh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sokka whines. He props his elbows and leans onto them, pouting. “Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have nothing new to say,” Iroh replies, passing the tea over to Sokka. “I’ve told you before.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka deadpans.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is painfully anticlimactic</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I told you that I’m still going to try to get him to remember,” Sokka says, standing. “Now that I found him...I have him, Iroh. He’ll remember. I know he will.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe coming here was a bad idea. Sokka should’ve known. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh sighs in response. It’s lofty and unusual compared to his typical calmness. A hint of disappointment flashes in his eyes as he peers at Sokka. “Don’t forget to give </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lee</span>
  </em>
  <span> a chance, too. If you want to set things straight, heed these words.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh’s never looked at Sokka like that before. He stumbles back a little and his gaze diverts to the grass below them. He just wants to make Zuko remember. And he will. But he can’t take Iroh’s chagrin...maybe Sokka should concede, just a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He figures that Iroh will know if he does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you later,” Sokka says. He squeezes Iroh’s shoulder before parting ways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stumbles out of the Spirit World with the weight of Iroh’s words on his shoulders. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Give Lee a chance</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Lee. Hearing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Iroh</span>
  </em>
  <span> say his name feels so...so...wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as Sokka knows Iroh wouldn’t want to guide him in the wrong direction, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Why wouldn’t he want Sokka to help Zuko remember? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thoughts that spin in Sokka’s head disappear as soon as he steps beyond the forest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sudden bout of vertigo makes the world around him spin so fast, all of the colors, buildings, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> blurs together. His weight collapses underneath him, and just before everything goes black, he hears one of the Kyoshi Warriors scream his name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, there is nothing.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me again. </p><p>Anyway, is this what you expected?</p><p>QotC: What do you think happens to Sokka? Why has he suddenly seemed to knock out? </p><p>Sorry for leaving you on a cliffhanger again lmao</p><p>There will be some commissioned art for this chapter coming your way soon....follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> if you want to see it ;)</p><p>See you next week, friends!</p><p>-M</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. We're Going to Be Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “Uncle Sokka!”  </em>
</p><p><em> Izumi crouches down by the turtleduck pond and scoops one of the babies out of the water. Sokka sits on the rock near her, watching with a smile on his face. Zuko told him to make sure that she </em> wouldn’t <em> mess with the turtleducks, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Sokka shifts positions on the rock. He leans onto his elbows and smiles at the little girl who runs up to him, cradling the turtleduck in her hands.  </em>
</p><p><em> “The momma duck’s going to bite you,” Sokka says, petting the soft feathers atop its head. “And if your daddy </em> — <em> ” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Izumi, what are you doing?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Zuko passes through the garden, those blood-red robes sweeping behind him as he makes his way forward. His brow is furrowed at the sight. Sokka knows that Izumi won’t hear any of it; he’s always been patient with her. But Sokka’s going to get an earful. The thought of it makes a smirk pull at the corner of his lip.  </em>
</p><p><em> “I told her that the momma duck would bite her,” Sokka says in a sing-songy tune. He scoops the turtleduck from Izumi’s little hands and places the duck back in the water, only for the mother turtleduck to bite </em> him <em> .  </em></p><p>
  <em> Izumi squeals. “Oh no! Uncle Sokka!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Spirits,” Sokka hissing, waving his hand about like it’ll make the pain go away.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Better you than her,” Zuko bites, and when Sokka turns his way to pin him with a glare, he catches a hint of concern laced in Zuko’s golden gaze. Sokka softens, his heart skipping a beat.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Zuko blushes, but turns his attention to Izumi. “The meetings are done for the day, Princess.” His words echo, even though the courtyard’s open air. “Do you want to….” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Zuko’s mouth continues to move, but no words come out.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Zuko?” Sokka calls.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Zuko continues to talk to Izumi as if he hadn’t heard him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sokka stands and tromps over to nudge his shoulder, but his hand slips right through Zuko’s body.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Wait,” Sokka says, trying again, only to have the same effect. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A cold sweat breaks over him, the sudden realization that he’s just running over his memories hitting him in the face.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No,” Sokka says, but before he can stop it, the sight before him goes blurry. Izumi and Zuko look more like shadows, and then, he slips.  </em>
</p><p><em> At first, he tries to hold on. He tries to grab onto anything </em> — <em> the grass, the trees, Zuko’s robes. It’s no use. </em></p><p><em> As Sokka falls back down to earth, he watches the scene before him deteriorate, </em> burn <em> into nothing. </em></p><p>
  <em> Nothing but white. </em>
</p><p>Sokka’s eyes snap open and he gasps.</p><p>Where is he? </p><p>What was reeling through his head?</p><p>All he knows is that he’s in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He lays atop crumpled bed sheets fussed up from tossing and turning. A few beads of sweat roll from his temple and down the side of his head. Below his feet are sheets he’s kicked down these past couple of days, and now that he lies here, he’s cold. Freezing, really. Yet, he doesn’t have the energy to reach down and pull them up over his body. He doesn’t have much energy to do anything—not right now.</p><p>“<em> Oh </em>,” Sokka says once he’s back on earth.</p><p>He’s been in and out of consciousness since he left the Spirit Portal a few days ago. And while his mom thought that it was a relapse of what he went through when he was sixteen—he caught bits and pieces of conversation when he was conscious—it was different. Maybe the physical effects were the same, but the metamorphosis—that’s what he decided to call it—brought about different results than what he just went through. </p><p>The metamorphosis—the first one—was filled with recollection. Sokka wasn’t born with the memories of his past lives, nor did he wake up one day and just...remember. It was a process. A painful one at that. It was full of writhing around and developing a fever so bad, death wasn’t ruled out. It was his material body fighting the effects of a spiritual engagement. </p><p>This doesn’t happen too often, but it’s possible, and not everyone comes out of it.</p><p>Sokka, luckily, has every time thus far, so he can say that the past few days weren’t nearly as tough.</p><p>That’s not to say that they weren’t difficult. Shifting between spiritual encounters and being pulled back down to the material world can be exhausting. Especially with the decision at hand: forget the past and hop directly into Zuko’s—Lee’s—arms without a second thought, or do what he can to make him remember. </p><p>Sokka’s decision between the two was so critical that he needed a spiritual sense of direction. Quite literally. </p><p>The results, at least Sokka thinks, rule in his favor.</p><p>In visions and illusions of the circumstances set before him, the Spirits compel Sokka to hold on. When he closes his eyes, Spirits paint out the scenes before him: fleeting glances, blushing cheeks, bumping their hands against each other and allowing the contact to linger. Memories that exist only between the two of them—all to be severed by the Spirits. Nothing but blinding light is left, and the knowledge that a memory existed but not the details.</p><p>That’s what most of his fever dreams consist of—destruction, reasons to hold on. </p><p>While he has hundreds of memories of similar substance, the fact that they can be taken—<em> decimated </em>—so easily terrifies him. </p><p>And now he knows: if he doesn’t preserve those memories, they’ll disappear. They’ll fade into oblivion—into the reserves of minds that are already gone. It’s Sokka’s job to make him remember. </p><p>Iroh’s wrong, and even the cosmic forces agree with Sokka on this one.</p><p><em> Right? </em>Sokka thinks. <em> Definitely. </em></p><p>Not that Sokka won’t get to know Lee, or Zuko...or Lee. (He’s going to need to make sure to call him Lee in discussion, at least.) He wants to. fact that Sokka hadn’t scared him off tells him everything he needs to know. He has to be a little bit interesting. And maybe a bit...weird, too. Sokka’s eager to see in what ways, but it’s simply not what’s most important to Sokka because he knows what’s buried deep within the recesses of Lee’s mind. </p><p><em> Sokka’s </em> Zuko just needs a bit of excavating. Starting as soon as possible.</p><p>He plans on visiting the Jasmine Dragon today now that his body permits him to get up and function again.</p><p>But that’s later. That’s when the sun’s actually in the sky and Sokka’s across the strait near RCU—hours from now. </p><p>Time slowly ticks along, and Sokka continues to stare up at the painted constellations on his ceiling until shades of lilac start blooming in the sky. His blinks become long and drawn out, and while his mind is begging for some rest, most of his body is ready to be up and about. Now that he has some solid sense of direction and a drive to go for it, he wants to go, go, go. He almost closes his eyes and allows his mind the break it’s pleading for, but Druk decides to crawl onto Sokka’s chest and nip at his neck. </p><p>“What’re you doing?” Sokka asks, eyes opening. He decides he might as well get up now. He needs to shave, shower, and eat. If he’s going to throw himself in front of Zuko again, he needs to look nice. (Though, maybe he doesn’t. He <em> did </em> puke right in front of him and he was still a blushing mess after that.) </p><p>Druk nips at his neck again and gutturally yowls. </p><p>Sokka wipes the sleep out of his eyes and cradles Druk as he sits up. Something’s up and whatever it is is bothering him. “Are you hungry?” Sokka asks. </p><p>Druk nips at the tip of his finger, so Sokka takes that as a yes. </p><p>They’ll need breakfast first. </p><p>Within a couple of minutes, Sokka pulls on some socks and slippers and wanders his way down to the kitchen. </p><p>Before he can even saunter in, he can smell what someone—Sokka’s guessing his mom—is making. Wafts of both sweet and savory fragrances work their way through the halls and the minute he turns into the kitchen, it’s delightfully pungent. He’s just in time, too, because she turns around and places a large steaming pot on a trivet. </p><p>“I checked on you this morning,” she says, turning away again to grab something else. “You looked much better, so I thought this would be a happy surprise. I know it’s usually for dinner, but—”</p><p>“Thanks, Mom,” Sokka says, sinking into an island chair. Druk, who was flying at his side until now, perches on his shoulder and clips his ear  “Is there anything formerly alive for Druk to eat?” </p><p>“Oh, yes,” his mom turns to the fridge and pulls out a box. “I’ve been keeping them in here a few hours before I feed him. Is that all right?” </p><p>Sokka takes the box from her and opens it, revealing a mouse. He picks it up by the tail and holds it out for Druk to take. Druk sinks his teeth into the mouse, hops onto the counter, and feasts. </p><p>“Yeah, it’s all right,” Sokka says, sliding the box back over. “Thank you for taking care of him while I was...uh. Out.” </p><p>The neutral expression his mother was wearing shifts—her brows weigh heavy on her face and the corners of her lips downturn. “What happened, Sokka?”</p><p>“Oh, look who’s up.” Sokka’s dad says, sweeping through the kitchen. He, too, stops at the smell. “Stew?”</p><p>“Since Sokka’s feeling better, I thought it would make him happy,” his mother replies. Her words are clipped and she won’t look at him. </p><p>Sokka raises a brow and tries to suppress the smile wanting to make its way on his face. He leans against the counter, a little too eager to watch the tension between his parents build up.</p><p>“Hmm.” His father continues into the kitchen and grabs the coffee pot. “You’re going to have a lot of homework to make up, Hahn.”</p><p>“That’s not his name,” his mother says, pulling a bowl out from underneath the counter. She ladles a heap of sea prune stew into it and slides it across to Sokka—he catches it so it won’t slide onto his lap. </p><p>Hahn Sr. veers around. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Kama.” </p><p>“No,” she snaps back, tossing the ladle into the pot. Chunks of stew splash out of it and onto the counter, leaving sticky purple splotches on the white granite. “His name is Sokka! You’re disrespecting him when you ignore that.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Sokka says, wearing a shit-eating grin. “You’re disrespecting me.”</p><p>“Zip it,” Kama says, holding a hand out to him. </p><p>Sokka sinks back into his chair and shovels a spoonful of stewed prunes in his mouth. They’re delicious. </p><p>He eats his breakfast, intrigued by the conversation bouncing between his mother and father—not a conversation, an <em> argument </em> . In any other life, Sokka would’ve <em> hated </em> this. All of his other parents got along. All of his other parents, generally speaking, cared about him. And now he’s watching a brawl between the parent who cares and the parent who doesn’t. It fascinates him more than it should. </p><p>“He was <em> sick </em>!” his mother says now, standing across the kitchen with a wooden spoon in her hand. His father’s tucked between the stove and a counter, tapping his fingers on the granite, waiting for the coffee pot to fill up so he can retreat to his office. “You shouldn’t come down here talking about all of the homework he has! He knows! And surely, his teachers will give him extensions! I mean, we have the paperwork from the hospital—”</p><p>“The hospital?” Sokka asks, dropping his spoon. It clatters against the porcelain of the empty bowl. “I went to the hospital?” </p><p>“It wasn’t that serious,” his dad says, pouring some coffee into a mug. “The Kyoshi Warriors freaked out and took you there.” </p><p>“I thought he was going to <em> die </em>, Hahn!” </p><p>Sokka’s father rolls his eyes. “You thought he was going to die the first time, too. He’s strong, he’s just”—his father gives him a once-over, his mug hovering in front of his mustached lip—“misguided.” </p><p>Sokka blanches. Was that supposed to be a...a compliment?</p><p>“If you’re smart, you’ll leave this kitchen <em>right</em> <em>now</em>,” his mother seethes, pointing the spoon in his direction. “I don’t want to hear <em>any</em> more of it.” </p><p>Hahn holds his free hand up in defense and slithers silently out of the kitchen and to his powerful public figure office. </p><p>“Again, I suggest divorce,” Sokka says nonchalantly. He swoops the bowl up into one hand and rounds the counter. “It would make things—”</p><p>His mom throws the spoon at the ground with such force that it snaps in half. Sokka shuts his mouth. </p><p>The air around them suddenly feels too still and the tension permeating from his mother makes it so thick, Sokka could cut it with a knife. </p><p>“It would make things a lot harder,” she says, and the words roll off her tongue like she’s mulled it over many times. “The headlines, paparazzi, death threats. Your father’s reelection.” </p><p>The United Republic of Nations doesn’t have a term limit, so, of course, his father’s running again. That’s in another couple of years, but the campaigning is constant. Not that the citizens of the United Republic of Nations would vote for anyone else, but they wouldn’t want to give citizens a reason to reconsider. (<em> I wouldn’t vote for anyone else unless there’s a more progressive running mate </em>, Sokka thinks. But there haven’t been any thus far.) </p><p>That would make things complicated, but who in the Green House can say they’re actually <em> happy </em> ? Sokka, <em> kind </em> of can now. But that comes with conditions. He doesn’t think he’ll reach true happiness until he can get Zuko to remember. </p><p>That reminds him. </p><p>“I went to the hospital?” </p><p>Kama peers at him, her eyes like a sea in a storm. She looks away just as quickly. “Your father’s right. It...it wasn’t far too bad. It was like it was last time. They made sure nothing was wrong with you and let us take you home.”</p><p>Sokka doesn’t remember much about the last time. The last time, he had so many other memories bouncing around in his head that he could barely comprehend what was going on around him. </p><p>“It must be scary,” Sokka says. “Not...not being able to do anything.” </p><p>His mother casts a gaze at Sokka that he can’t quite read. </p><p>It’s his turn to look away. </p><p>Sokka rinses his dishes and sticks them in the dishwasher as his mother sinks down in the chair next to his. She looks at him with a dispirited gaze, and as much as he’d like to sit around and make further conversation, he needs to get ready. </p><p>“I should shave and shower. I’m sure I stink,” Sokka says, lifting his arm to get a whiff—somewhat for emphasis, mostly because he’s curious. Sure enough, he’s radiating an odor putrid enough to make him gag. “Yeah. Shower. I’ll spare you.” </p><p>Then, he shoots out the kitchen and slingshots up the stairs. </p><p>The next hour or so, Sokka scrubs up and shaves. He usually isn’t too keen on pulling on his rich boy garb, but there’s an inherent need to dress nice for Zuko—Lee? Either way, the need to dress to impress doesn’t come as a burden this time. Rather, a necessity. Even though his only goal is to walk into the shop, buy a drink, and ask if Zuko wants to hang out. Do something memory-provoking. He wonders if Zuko’d be interested in statue watching. </p><p>While he’s rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, his mom nudges the door open. “What’re you all dressed up for? I didn’t even have to plead with you.” </p><p>Sokka freezes, trying to find the right words to say to his mother. What can he tell her? <em> I found my soulmate and when I did, my body got so overwhelmed that it shut down but I’m ready to see him again? </em> He lets the hand that’s adjusting the sleeve fall to his side. “I think I have my senior seminar today, so I should probably look kind of nice.” </p><p>His mom walks further into his room and takes a seat at the edge of his bed. She gauges it for a moment, and if it’s not a trick of the light in the mirror he’s watching her through, the slightest tinge of green settles in her undertone. </p><p>“Are you sick?” Sokka asks, pulling on and buckling his belt. </p><p>“Your bed sheets don’t smell too pleasant,” she replies. “I need to wash them, but I wanted to ask: are you sure you’re ready to go back?”</p><p>The cool air of his room against Sokka’s burning neck stings a little. “Yeah. I’m fine. I mean, I might crash for the weekend, but I can make it to class.” </p><p>Sokka, more than anything, is ready to see Zuko again—hopefully, he’ll be significantly less awkward this time. </p><p>***</p><p>“After class, you are coming <em> right </em> back to us,” Solan tells Sokka just as they stumble up to the history hall for his last class of the day—funnily enough, it’s called Sokka Hall. When he first found that out three years ago, he was pretty jazzed. It makes sense; though, the engineering hall <em> could’ve </em> also been called that….</p><p>“Sokka, you hear me?” she asks, nudging his shoulder. “We will hold your hands if we have to. You’re not going to crash land on us again.” </p><p>“I can’t believe you took me to the hospital,” Sokka mumbles. </p><p>Imula groans. “That’s not important! You come back here after class. We take you home. Capeesh?” </p><p>“I need to go to the Jasmine Dragon first,” Sokka says, taking hold of the straps of his backpack. He wrings them. “Then I’ll go.” </p><p>The Warriors share an exasperated glance before allowing him to walk into the hall. </p><p>Sokka wonders why school buildings look so much like jail cells as he walks across the polished tile floors of the hall. The fluorescents above him flicker and he has to take a dark stairwell down into the basement, which adds to the creep factor. His class is in one of the smaller rooms down here—he believes there are only twenty people in this class. So, there’s no need for a massive classroom.</p><p>There are a few people sitting about or standing around one of the doors—that must be it. Sokka stops far enough away to where people haven’t noticed him yet and turns to the Warriors. “Can you just...guard the hall? I’m not in the mood for stares.” </p><p>“There’s no way around that, buddy,” Imula says, clapping her hand on his shoulder. “But we’ll stand back. Just remember to come back to us—”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Sokka pivots on his heel and saunters over to the collection of waiting students. </p><p>A couple of people look up when he’s a few feet away. And when they nudge their friends, a couple turn to several. They sit there, jaws slack, eyes a bit buggered. </p><p>Naturally. (Sokka used to like the attention. Lifetimes ago. Now it’s just annoying.)  </p><p>There’s one person who hasn’t peered up, though. A chubby guy bundled up and tucked into a book that’s encapsulated him. </p><p>That same magnetic pull rouses in Sokka’s stomach, guiding him to the man. </p><p><em> Zuko, in my senior seminar </em>? Sokka thinks, standing in front of him. </p><p>He lifts his head, revealing his identity. Sure enough, it’s Zuko. </p><p>Sokka can feel the blood rush to his cheeks. <em> What’re the odds </em>? he thinks.</p><p>“Oh, hey.” Zuko hops up from the ground and takes him in. Sokka’s stomach churns, butterflies violently fluttering about. “Your eyebrow looks better—you’re in my senior seminar?” </p><p>“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Sokka says, rubbing the back of his neck. </p><p>“Why? You’re the one that’s been missing.” </p><p>“Oh.” Sokka feels like his cheeks are on fire. “Yeah. But I mean, I haven’t seen you around here before.” </p><p>Zuko shuffles from one foot to the other, looking everywhere but Sokka. He starts to blush; Sokka raises a brow. </p><p>“People are staring at us,” Zuko says. </p><p>Sokka gauges the area around them, and sure enough.</p><p>“Hey,” Sokka says to the voyeurs, “I’m not <em> blind </em>. Can you not try to tune into my private conversation?”</p><p>The students standing about decide they’re suddenly interested in something else and go about distracting themselves in less intrusive ways. </p><p>“I moved here before the semester started,” Zuko answers, hugging the book he was reading to his chest. “There were a few classes here that have higher reviews than those at SWTU—”</p><p>“Wait, you went to Southern Water Tribe University?”</p><p>“I just told you I did,” Zuko replies, and while Sokka’s expecting a harsher tone, it’s flat. Not monotonous, but there’s no pushback in his voice—just matter-of-factness. </p><p>Either way, it makes Sokka smirk a little. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I was born there—”</p><p>“I know.” Zuko flushes and dips his head. “My sister and I are versed in URoN politics.” </p><p>Sokka steps back, confused. Why’s Zuko being so...so….</p><p>“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Sokka asks, sounding a little more wounded than he’d like to allow. But after their night in the tea shop, things felt right and now? Sokka bites his trembling lip. </p><p>Zuko snaps his head up and shakes it. “No, I promise you’re not. I just...uh. I’m me and you’re you and—”</p><p>“Good afternoon, everyone,” the professor says, sweeping through the hall and weaving between students to get to the classroom door. “Sorry I’m late. I had….”</p><p>Sokka tunes out of the professor’s words and focuses back on Zuko. “I’m just Sokka. I’m no one.” </p><p>Zuko shakes his head, staring over Sokka’s shoulder. “No, you’re the First Son and I’m a middle-class Fire Nation student studying abroad.”</p><p>Is that what he really thinks? That any of that matters to Sokka? Zuko brushes past him to enter the classroom and Sokka follows behind him, frowning. </p><p>The desks of the classroom are arranged in four rows that trail all the way against the back wall. Several people have already taken their seats—quite a few in the back, and a couple in the front. One of them being Zuko. He’s pulling things from his backpack: several papers, a pen. His book’s set aside in the corner farther away from Sokka and he strains his neck attempting to read it. But then he notices that no one’s sitting next to him on that side. </p><p>Again, it seems that fate makes it easy on Sokka. He takes a seat right next to Zuko.</p><p>“What’re you reading?” </p><p>Zuko peers over at him and hands the book over. </p><p>It’s a book on old Southern Water Tribe tales. “I saw it in the library. They didn’t have it at SWTU, so I was curious.” </p><p>Sokka turns it in his hands a few times and cracks the thing open—the first thing he lands on is the tale of the haunted igloo, the story Katara had told him and the gang long ago. It’s funny that it’s in there. “Is SWT history your concentration?” </p><p>“Yeah. I’ve always been fascinated with it.”</p><p>Sokka’s grip on the book tightens and a sudden ache tightens his chest. </p><p>After the war, once some of the dust had settled, all Zuko wanted to do was research the Southern Water Tribe. </p><p>It seems some passions last more than one lifetime.</p><p>Sokka snaps the book closed and hands it over, trying his best not to gaze fondly at Zuko, but it’s hard. He can see <em> him </em> in Lee, shimmering just under the surface. </p><p>Zuko plucks the book from Sokka’s hands—he doesn’t look nearly as uptight anymore. His shoulders are rolled back now. </p><p>Maybe he thought that his reason to be intimidated was silly, too. </p><p>“What are you planning on covering in your project?” Zuko asks, leaning back into his seat. </p><p>Sokka snaps out of the semi-daydream state he was floating around in. “Is that what we’re talking about today?”</p><p>A smile twitches at Zuko’s lips but doesn’t break through his flatlined mouth. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Oh.” Uh. </p><p>This is very bad, but in all honesty, Sokka hadn’t thought about it. </p><p>“Something, uh. Something about the Hundred Years’ War.”</p><p>Zuko giggles, and Sokka swears that every time he does, it’s like Spirits are singing. It’s so damn cute, and Sokka refuses to suppress this smile. He turns full body to Zuko. “What’re you laughing at me for?”</p><p>“That’s <em> so </em> not specific,” he says, smiling. And when he smiles, he gets these little crinkles around his eyes. Sokka always wanted to kiss them. He wants to kiss him now. But he has to remind himself to wait. Zuko needs to remember first. </p><p>“What are you doing, then?” Sokka asks. </p><p>“I’m going to discuss the lasting effects that the Fire Nation’s had on the Southern Water Tribe,” Zuko says. His eyes light up and he goes to say something else, but before he can, the professor walks to the front of the class and the students go quiet. </p><p>While the class drones on, Sokka leans against his palm and doodles in the corner of his notebook. His mind’s nowhere in the room, but it <em> is </em> on the project. </p><p>What if...what if Sokka partnered up with Zuko? It’s not against the rules to work on a thesis with a partner, plus it would get Zuko right where Sokka wants him. He could come over. Sokka could show him his trinkets. He could see and read the thousands of books in Sokka’s bedroom. </p><p>This project could bring them together and help him remember. </p><p>Sokka will need to thank the Spirits later for putting the puzzle pieces together. </p><p>Just as class draws to an end, Sokka turns to Zuko. He’s shoving his things in his backpack, not paying much mind to anything until Sokka taps his shoulder. </p><p>“We can walk and talk. I need to get to work.” Zuko swings the backpack onto his shoulder and heads for the door. </p><p>Sokka follows in tow. </p><p>“It’s just a quick question,” Sokka promises, keeping in step with him as he bustles for the stairs. “I was wondering...how would you feel about having a partner for your thesis?” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Look at me, yet again, making a White Stripes song a chapter title lol</p><p>QotC (I have two this time!): </p><p>1. In what ways do you think the Spirits work with Sokka and do you think that they're actually telling him to make Zuko remember?</p><p>2. What do you think Lee is thinking during all of this???</p><p>If you have any questions, let me know!! I will probably answer, but if I'm spoiling anything, I'll just leave a little ;)</p><p>Also, I commissioned some art from chapter 4 and look!!!!! </p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>I can't thank <a href="https://gracedbill.tumblr.com/">Delfi</a> (aka flynnpaff, but it won't let me tag the tumblr) enough for this. I love the boys so much and she did such a great job bringing them to life!</p><p>Don't forget to follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> to keep up with this story! </p><p>I love y'all! Thank you for all of the comments and kudos—I appreciate them so much!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Head Over Heels in the Moment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: minor anxiety attack</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Saturday nights are busy at Narook’s. It’s one of the oldest restaurants in the city, so that’s part of the appeal, but it’s also the best place to get some of the most authentic Southern Water Tribe cuisine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko was the one who wanted to come here. Something about starting their project off with supporting a local SWT business. Sokka couldn’t find it in himself to argue. Hundreds of years ago, all of the gang came to Narook’s grand opening. Katara thought they should bring more attention to their small nation’s cuisine. The others, not including Aang, who had a very hard time picking what he wanted, also found a way to make it fun. By the end of the night, they were flushed with sea prune wine and overstayed their welcome, reminiscing on victories they achieved together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka peers over his shoulder now, and he can see the same table just beyond the window he’s sitting beside. If he squints, blurry visions of that memory materialize—Katara yanks a bottle of wine from Sokka. Zuko leans drunkenly against him. He tears his eyes from the scene when the nostalgia no longer fills him with warmth but feels more like a sting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the more recent past, Sokka’s mother brought him here when she could, to keep him close to his roots. (If it were her complete jurisdiction, they would’ve stayed south. While Hahn Sr.’s heritage is tied to the Southern Water Tribe, he’s a Republic City local and his ambitions rooted him to the peninsula just off the Earth Kingdom.) Sokka relearned how to use traditional knives at Narook’s. He learned to cut checkered patterns into his seal meat. Sokka’s ruined several white tablecloths spilling soy sauce and wiping his hands in areas his little brain didn’t think would be noticed. The warmth of happy memories blankets him, cradling him between a pair of arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka sits outside right now on a bench, swinging his legs. He came early to grab them a table. The cool late summer breeze rolls over him, the Kyoshi Warriors a few feet away rather than right next to the bench he’s perched on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From where he is, he can crane his neck and find his statue standing there with his boomerang held high in the air. It’s a tad gaudy, Sokka thinks</span>
  <span>—he’s always thought that, but they wanted to have him pose with </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he hadn’t found his space sword yet—but it’s held up well over time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s Prince Charming look like, anyway?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka hears the words, but he continues to absentmindedly bounce where he sits, staring at the large statue of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” He snaps out of his trance and turns to Solan, who is leaning against a fire hydrant. “Oh. Uh. You mean Lee?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lump forms in his throat as he thinks about it, and he swallows, but the lump settles in his stomach, heavy and ominous. “He’s not my Prince Charming. He’s a senior project partner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his...soulmate? But that doesn’t matter until Zuko remembers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Imula, who is leaning against the light post, kicks herself off of it. “You looked rather flustered when we asked you what we were up to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka lets his head hang and huffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Mr. Marniq!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka lifts his head and turns towards the voice</span>
  <span>—the restaurant owner’s head pokes out between the double doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could’ve gotten you a seat right away!” the owner continues. “I’m so sorry you had to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, I asked. I’m waiting for someone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The owner cocks his head, brows knitted together like it’s baffling that Sokka doesn’t want to be treated like royalty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could’ve waited inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it’s possible, he furrows his brow further—his eyes disappear under them. It’s kind of humorous, but Sokka also hates the predisposed opinions people form of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there’s a table ready for you and you’re next. Would you like to sit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka pushes himself off of the bench and follows the owner through the double doors, past the host stand, and into the dining area. They reach the far corner of the restaurant where tables are less populated and the owner leaves Sokka to his own devices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The table’s set as he remembers it. It’s topped with a white table cloth with sweeteners and flavorings in its center. A small oil lamp flickers dimly among the sugar packets and salt and pepper shakers, and a vase rests among the clutter with wintergreen and heather blossoming from its basin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all lovely and inviting, but when he takes account of the empty chair in front of him, his stomach churns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka and Zuko never came here alone together, and that doesn’t matter. But the lights are dim, and Zuko’s—Lee’s—face will be illuminated under the soft light of the lamp. Sokka’s heart flip-flops at the thought of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes it wouldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes a seat, and for a moment, he ignores the weight in his stomach getting heavier. He disregards the way his palms start to sweat, and then the back of his neck—he only knows because the draft on his neck makes him shiver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Sokka whispers, no longer able to hold back the floodgates of his thoughts. He props his elbows on the table and rubs his face, trying to pull himself together, trying not to think, but his mind romps about, and all of the worries bubble over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shouldn’t be so stressed out. This isn’t a date and he knows that. They’re classmates getting to know each other. But in this light, with how nice Sokka is dressed...will it be misconstrued? And they’ve been flirting. (He thinks.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What message is Sokka sending? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kicking the leg of the table, Sokka leans back into his chair and groans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This wouldn’t be an issue if Zuko already remembered, and he knows the point of this is to help him remember, but he doesn’t want to deal with the messy in-between….</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m just overthinking</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Sokka takes a deep breath and exhales. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I just need to...go with the flow. Go wherever the river takes me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>If only it were that easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of his overthinking isn’t beneficial. He tries to think about something else, anything else, before he has a full-blown mental breakdown. He does what he can to distract himself: pick at the end of the frayed table cloth, try to focus on his breathing. In, out, in timed intervals. Then, he tries grounding himself—the window’s situated to where he can see across the strait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A waiter brushes by the table and he startles, noticing someone headed in his direction in his peripheral when he’s already antsy. He turns his eyes down to his hands. His fingernails are bitten and the cuticles curl up around his nail beds. The corner of his thumb is bleeding—while one hand was fiddling with the frayed strings, the other was mutilating the cuticles. That habit is so bad now he barely notices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka flies out of his chair and squeals several octaves too high—when he lands, he finds Zuko standing there, staring at him with wide eyes and a furrowed brow, but the shock’s replaced with something else. His eyes soften and he doesn’t sit—he walks to Sokka’s side and crouches down. “Hey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you just get out of work?” Sokka asks; his voice trembles. He realizes that his entire body is trembling just a little bit and he won’t look at Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Zuko asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Sokka says, though he doesn’t completely believe himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re shaking—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I’m okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would make you comfortable?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka doesn’t know how to answer that—not out loud, at least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to go outside?” Zuko asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods. Maybe the fresh, cool air and a little more space to think will help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand and slip out of the restaurant unnoticed, as far as Sokka knows or cares. However, as soon as they’re beyond the doors, the Kyoshi Warriors are quick to pick them out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, this is Prince Charming!” Imula calls. Solan whistles lowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka doesn’t look at Zuko; he can’t because he feels stuck to the spot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko, however, says, “He’s having an anxiety attack! You’re only making it worse.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words are sharp and weighty, and it makes warmth stir within Sokka’s chest, but he still feels stuck there, staring at the Warriors. However, their cocksure expressions fade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He needs space. I’d suggest you give him some,” Zuko continues, and the words roll off his tongue like he’s done this before. And he has—standing up for what’s right, at least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flustered, at least in how he manhandles Sokka’s hand, Zuko pulls Sokka away from the front of the restaurant and towards some alleyways. Sokka follows blindly, not quite caring as to where Zuko’s taking him. Now that they’re outside, now that Sokka’s adjusted to the situation, he no longer has as much anxious energy bouncing around inside of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two walk through alleyways and past a few small closed shops. They only stop when they’re near a small gated area about a mile away from the Southern Water Tribe Cultural Center. Zuko lets go of his hand then, and Sokka finally takes him in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Sokka thought he was coming straight from work, he’s gotten ready to go out. Nothing fancy, but he’s in a button-down and some jeans. Also, his hair’s styled out of his eyes rather than just hanging in his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing him like this makes Sokka smile, just a tad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is something Sokka notices now that he hadn’t before—while there’s no burn over his left eye, the brows are sparse and the skin almost looks chafed. Like he—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like the way they treat you,” Zuko says, his voice almost blowing away with the wind. He doesn’t step closer, but Sokka wishes he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re like family at this point,” Sokka replies, shoving the curiosity out of the way. “They bully me, but...thank you. They were making me uncomfortable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko smiles at him. “Don’t mention it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them say anything for a moment, and that’s when Sokka looks around. The gated area’s a newer addition and he can’t quite see what stands behind the brick other than a few trees. It most definitely wasn’t there when he was younger, so he wanders towards it. Zuko’s footsteps almost echo his as he trails behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he reaches the platelet at the front gates, he reads that it’s a park and his mother built it—or paid for it, really. Sokka wonders why his mom never told him about this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can keep walking or sit down—what would you rather do?” Zuko asks, standing at his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka peers past the platelet and notices a small pond in the middle of the park. It’s frozen to the core—something he guesses a waterbender does when they have the chance. The rest of the park looks serene. There’s a playground on one side, an open field on the other….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can stay here. But would you want to sit on a bench or...” Sokka points to the field. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Field,” Zuko says, and without anything further, he starts trekking out to the grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka follows behind him. The two take a seat on the grass at once and Sokka sinks his hands into dew-dropped blades of grass. Zuko leans back onto his hands and sighs. It’s airy and light. “This reminds me of my hometown.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” Sokka asks, both curious and minutely relieved that they’re actually getting to what they had planned. He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his cheek atop them so he can watch Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s beautiful in the pale blues and purples of the dark—his golden eyes sparkle in the moonlight, and he looks oh so serene. Sokka doesn’t think he’s ever seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zuko like that. Not with what haunted him, but seeing Zuko </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> so...blissed out, it’s heartwarming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I lived in a small city called Hira’a,” Zuko says—Sokka’s eyes widen; the Hira’a Ursa lived in?—and a smile flickers across his face. “Little Fire Nation village. I guess you’d know I’m Fire Nation, you know. Since I. Uh.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rubs where his brow’s still a little sparse. “Yeah. And you told me the other day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s cheeks tinge pink. “But yeah. There were places with big open fields and my siblings and I used to love to run around and catch fireflies there. I know there aren’t any here, but the open field and...yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you get along with your siblings?” Sokka asks. He falls back onto one hand and turns to face Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. They’re great.” Zuko shifts forward, tucking a knee up to his chest. The other splays to the side. “They’re my best friends, probably. That sounds kind of sad, but they’ve always been there for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Zuko says it is laced with longing and his path of vision’s directed at the ground; the smile that settled on his lips like it was a permanent fixture now sits flat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you ever get to see them?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko nods once. “Not in person, but yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not in person?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the conversation continues. Zuko tells Sokka about how after they graduated, they moved to the Fire Nation mainland, and then Zuko moved off to the Southern Water Tribe. He tells Sokka how the younger of his older siblings, a sister named Arola, used to fangirl over him—Sokka blushes at that. Zuko paints out a lovely picture of his family life: two incredibly loving parents, pets—a family of turtleducks. (Sokka tells him about Druk in return.) They are one of the more affluent families there, but the village isn’t the wealthiest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But none of that mattered to me,” Zuko says. “I was happy. Maybe a little misunderstood. But...I couldn’t ask for a better family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve shifted positions. Zuko lays on his back, neck craned so he can look at Sokka. Sokka’s on his belly, inched down a bit lower so he doesn’t have to break his neck to peer back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about Zuko entrances Sokka. Maybe it’s the passion in his eyes when he talks about his family. Or the sincerity that oozes from his words. However, while it’s endearing, there’s something that sits weird with Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you leave, then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko, who was just telling him a little bit more about the landscape he grew up in, comes to a full stop and stares up into the sky for a moment. Neither anger nor sadness cross his face, but there is something brewing in his eyes—Sokka just doesn’t know how to decipher it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just...I. Uh, I always had this fascination with the Southern Water Tribe,” Zuko says after a moment of silence. His words are quiet but solid against the wind sweeping through the field. He sits up from where he lays and stares out to the other side of the park. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like a part of me was always there, or tied me to something there, and...I don’t know. I love my family, but something just didn’t...feel right. Or complete.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nearly chokes on his tongue. He scrambles up into a sitting position himself and gets a little too close to Zuko, who scoots back in return which reminds him that he doesn’t remember yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko shakes his head. “I went there and studied to find out, and I love what I learned. The culture and history are so rich and I miss it every day, but I didn’t find my answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s sitting right in front of you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head hangs and he hugs his knees to his chest because that’s the only comfort he has at his disposal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Longing for Zuko was painful, but this? Sokka sees the traces of their life together interwoven into who he is now. But Zuko—Lee—doesn’t comprehend this, or know Sokka as anyone other than the First Son or his project partner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being at arm's length makes Sokka’s heart sing. Spirits, it makes him so happy. But those consistencies throughout lifetimes are crushing. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’ll remember</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka reminds himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And the fact that these interests held up over his lifetimes is good news</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, tell me about you,” Zuko says, unaware of the war in Sokka’s head. “What’s it like being the FSotURoN?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka chortles, gingerly lifting his head. “Just say First Son. It’s a mouthful, otherwise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko smiles at him and it’s achingly beautiful. Sokka looks up at the moon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t tell anyone else this, but….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka tells Zuko the ins and outs, the ups and downs. He tells him about how much his mom does to make him happy and bashes a little more on his father than he knows he should, but he trusts Zuko not to say anything of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s horrible,” Zuko says, venom in his words. He’s settled a bit closer to Sokka now, grimacing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get it.” Zuko pulls at some of the grass and lets go, letting the blades fly away with the wind. “If it makes you feel any better, I like to visit the giant Sokka statue sometimes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t. It doesn’t make it any better. But Sokka weakly smiles and lays back on the grass with a huff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> you leave?” Zuko asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Sokka says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he had, where would he have gone? Fire Nation University? Ba Sing Se University? Southern Water Tribe University? And if he did, he wouldn’t have had as easy access to Iroh, or the room filled with books that he loves. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sokka would’ve never found Zuko</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he doesn’t know. But he’s glad he didn't either, even if he’s had to deal with his dad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, they change the subject and try to be more lighthearted. How does Zuko like work? What about his roommate? What’s it like with the Warriors always breathing down Sokka’s neck? How is he able to walk around and do peculiar things without caring all that much?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They bounce back and forth until the moon stares down directly over their heads and Zuko’s yawning more than he’s speaking. Around the same time, the Kyoshi Warriors storm into the park—more like walk, but their uniforms make their strides appear more flourished—and come right up to Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s late,” Solan says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You caught us at the right time, actually,” Sokka says, taking a glance at Zuko. He’s half asleep on the grass; Sokka almost reaches out and brushes away the hair that’s fallen into his eyes, but he stops himself the minute Zuko’s eyes open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka yanks his arm away and tucks his hand under his ass, but Zuko’s caught him. There’s no anger residing amongst his features. Rather, a cocked brow and gooey golden eyes. A smile’s tugging at the corners of his mouth, too, and it’s all so much. Sokka diverts his gaze to the moon sitting above them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should go home, Lee,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to have to take him home, aren’t we?” Solan says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko says, “I’ll walk,” the same time Sokka says, “Can we?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we’ll take you,” Sokka says, turning back to Zuko, who is now sitting up. “It’s not too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko bites his bottom lip and looks away. “Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Zuko and Sokka were talking, the Warriors picked up a Sato. It sits in front of the gates of the park and Zuko stumbles back a little bit at the sight of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never been in a government-sanctioned Satomobile.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka snorts, and a giant grin takes up half his face. “You’re such a dork.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko blushes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean that in a good way,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry it up, lovebirds. New rule’s to deliver you back home before one in the morning.” Imula waves at the open door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They climb into the Sato, both blushing messes; once everyone’s in, they take off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The short drive to Zuko’s dorm is silent, but Sokka’s mind isn’t. So many thoughts whir around his brain so fast he can barely comprehend anything. But he knows one thing: he finds himself </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>too interested in </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lee’s just so different from Zuko</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks, turning slightly to catch a glimpse of him. His face is almost pressed against the window; he’s watching the plum and navy silhouettes zoom by the window. This Zuko doesn’t brood, or scream, or get overly impatient. As far as Sokka can tell, trauma hasn’t seeped into his cracks and hardened him young. Lee is so full of life and wonderment and joy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka loves that—it’s what he deserves: happiness. But….</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lee’s just so different. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s hard to think of him and Zuko as the same person, even if they share a soul. </span>
</p><p><span>Sokka rests his head against the headrest and sighs. Things</span> <span>will make a lot more sense when he remembers.</span></p><p>
  <span>He just has to hold out until then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few more minutes pass before they finally pull up to the student dorms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s this one here,” Zuko says, his voice laden with exhaustion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Sato rolls to a stop and Zuko opens his door. Sokka almost lets him go with a goodbye, but then he remembers—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to come over sometime?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko stares at him. “Like, to work on the project?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Does my place work? We’d have more space to think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I...come to the Green House?” Zuko asks, eyes wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shrugs. “Why not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko pinches his lips together—Sokka can see the flush rising to his cheeks. “I guess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect.” Sokka smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Classes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s entire face goes red. “Oh. Yeah. Uh. Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s heart sputters in his chest. “Sleep well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too.” Zuko closes the door with a smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Solan doesn’t start driving until Zuko’s halfway up to the doors of his dorm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure that wasn’t a date?” Imula asks. She turns to face Sokka and sincerity pools in her gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s flush with excitement; he had a great night, but the question makes his happiness and exhilaration deteriorate. Guilt begins to pollute his head and the anxiety metastasizes throughout his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka, hey,” Imula says. “I’m not teasing you. I’m just—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t a date,” Sokka bites back. He pulls his knees to his chest and tries to take even, slow breaths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” Imula pats his knee. “You looked so happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am!” Sokka says, voice gurgled by the sob stuck in his throat. “I am happy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why are you crying?” she asks so softly he can barely hear her. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because I shouldn’t be happy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not yet.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, well, well. We get to know Zuko/Lee a little more :) </p><p>Also, poor Sokka. Dude's gone through shit. </p><p>QOTC: <br/>1. What do you think Lee means by misunderstood?<br/>2. What do you think Sokka was like as a child?</p><p>Again, thank y'all so much for the comments and kudos! We hit 200 kudos! </p><p>If you're enjoying my story and want others to read it, you can <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/post/641166220491685888/ill-come-back-someday-for-you-zukka">reblog</a> or <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka/status/1356403945472712704?s=20">retweet</a> these! </p><p>Additionally, you can follow me here on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>  or <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka">Twitter</a> :)</p><p>One last thing! I put it in my bio, but not many people read that--here's blanket permission for podficcing and fanart! You don't ever need to ask if you want to. Just let me know if you do :)</p><p>I'll see y'all next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Lights Will Guide You Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Several days later and the night before Zuko’s supposed to come over, Sokka’s sitting at the unnecessarily long table with his parents, eating dinner. While his mom usually cooks, Hahn Sr. felt like reminding them that they had an in-house chef. They sit in front of plates of Fire Nation/Earth Kingdom fusion food, which smells delicious, but doesn’t have the heart his mother puts into her cooking. The steam is thick and billows up into the air, creating a translucent filter between himself and his father. (Thank the Spirits.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve been eating together as much as they can lately—something Kama thinks they need. (She’s trying anything to bring them together as a family these days.) However, there's been a lot of silence and staring so far. No one really has anything to say. Not usually, but….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you read any of the news articles lately?” Hahn asks gruffly. He ladles some of the noodles into his mouth, and his glare’s strong enough to penetrate through the steam and directly at Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Sokka takes a bite for himself and almost spits it out when it burns his tongue. The cabbage sea soup stings his esophagus all the way down to his stomach. He grabs his water and chugs it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you didn’t,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is that supposed to mean, Hahn?” Kama asks, setting her spoon aside. “Did something happen?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was dawdling about with some kid in the park you had built in the historical district,” Hahn says, jabbing his spoon in Sokka’s direction. “Apparently he has a midnight lover!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake. I was meeting with my senior project partner,” Sokka says, crossing his arms. “I was getting to know him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Hahn’s eyes freeze over and a small condescending smile tugs at his lips. “Then why did a paparazzi hear Imula call you lovebirds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because she’s an asshole sometimes?” Sokka rolls his eyes. “We were </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does it matter anyway?” Kama asks, staring at Hahn. “Even if it was romantic—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Sokka, it wasn’t, but what does it matter to you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn’s ice-blue eyes shift over to Kama. That smile turns into a frown. “Who we associate ourselves with is important.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama’s eyes narrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka grips the armrests on the chair so hard, it feels as if he could snap the wood between his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what do you mean by </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Kama hisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know any notable things his family’s accomplished—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about it?!” Kama says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hahn’s little escapades bring down my approval rating,” Hahn Sr. states. He tosses his gaze in Sokka’s direction and it’s much like shurikens being thrown at him. “I need to know if this endeavor—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Sokka throws himself out of his seat and it sends the chair skitting across the floor. It toddles and falls on its side. “No. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> why I don’t want to spend time with you! It’s because of...of…” Sokka waves his hand about at his father. “Do I need to remind you of how I feel about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The icy glare melts immediately, replaced with a look that Sokka can’t quite place. “Sit down,” Hahn says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Sokka says. “No. I’m never eating with you again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka,” Kama says, and when he turns to his mother, he sees tears pooling in her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka huffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t. Not when...when….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka can’t even finish. Not when his blood’s boiling like it is. He walks out of the formal dining room and through the halls that will lead him to the back of the house. He stomps down these corridors, fists balled at his sides until he notices the echo of footsteps. He comes to a full stop and wrenches around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mom stands there staring at Sokka with bleary eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I make us dinner, will you eat with me?” she asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, Sokka sits at the kitchen island, awaiting some homemade seaweed noodles. Neither of them have exchanged any further words. Sokka just watches her and sees how her hands shake as she picks up the pot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Sokka stands and rounds the counter, taking the pot from her. “I can do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama looks up at her son and smiles even as tears spill onto her cheeks. She cups his cheek, gently caressing the skin under her thumb. “I love you. You know that, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama nods and shuffles over to the spot next to where Sokka was sitting; he dishes out the noodles and brings them over, and again, they sit in an extended moment of silence, eating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then his mother shatters it. “When did you start noticing that he was being cruel to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka almost chokes on his noodles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> think?” Sokka asks now, setting his chopstick beside his bowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama sighs, and when she blinks, a few tears fall into her almost empty bowl. “After your fever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods. “Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Sokka remembered anything, before his father was president, before everything, he was okay. Hahn Sr. was never the best—he never went to Sokka’s school ceremonies or sports games—but he wasn’t cruel or verbally abusive. That all started when Sokka remembered. After the fever and the realization. After nearly dying, according to Kama.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another few minutes of silence slip by. Sokka leans onto the counter and scrolls through his phone. His mother sits there, unmoving. The ball’s in her court, and he won’t get up until she says something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to be happy.” Kama’s no longer crying, but her eyes are lost. “I’ve always wanted you to be happy. You know that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka gnaws on his bottom lip. He knows that Kama would never intend to hurt him—she is too kind to. But the impact his father’s had on him and what she’s done to stop him far surpasses the times she actually stepped in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How can he be happy when Hahn berates his very existence?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama blinks and some semblance of resolution stirs within those seawater grey eyes. “I really want you to think about it—would it make you happy if your father and I got a divorce?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you to think about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Sokka huffs. “I’ve thought about it for years now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama nods. “Okay. I still need to think, but...okay.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the day passes without incident. Hahn’s probably sulking in his office, Sokka assumes, and his mother disappeared into her bedroom to do who knows what. While both of them are distracted, he slips out and to the Spirit World. He doesn’t do so without a disguise—a hoodie and glasses seem to do the trick—and once he’s past a few streets, he’s at the Portal in no time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s in and out; he doesn’t dawdle. He doesn’t feel like he can, especially after telling Iroh he’s wrong. Even though he was, something doesn’t sit right with him by telling him to his face, so when he comes across Iroh, he’s loaded with an apology. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s only an apology if you mean it,” Iroh tells him and holds out the thing he knew Sokka was coming for—Avatar Roku’s (and the crown prince’s) headpiece. (He acquired it lifetimes ago when he was a child of a Fire Nation noble. It’s considered missing; really, Sokka’s been hoarding it with the intent of returning it once Zuko remembers.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka receives the headpiece and Iroh says, “I hope you intend on taking it to return it to the crown prince.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, of course Iroh knows what he’s doing with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, Sokka can barely sleep. He stares at the ceiling and watches Druk fly around in circles above his head. His stomach churns with nerves and he romps around through the thoughts in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka set up his room exactly how he wants Zuko to find it. The headpiece and Katara’s necklace (another national archive item he snatched) are in display cases. Important books containing their history are sat about for Zuko to pick up and look at if he wants. Things are perfectly in place, yet Sokka feels like something is missing. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks, tossing from side to side to get comfortable, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going at this too hard. The entire project is exposure therapy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, he continues to squirm under his covers. He only falls asleep when his eyes are too heavy to hold open and Druk’s tucked himself between Sokka’s collarbone and jawline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At breakfast—Kama asked if she could eat with him—he can’t stop bouncing his legs and barely touches his food. He stares down at it and intends to dig in, but the way his stomach is churning, he doesn’t know if he can hold anything down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you not hungry?” Kama asks, focusing on Sokka’s untouched bowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why aren’t you eating, love?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is this anxiety or excitement? Sokka doesn’t know—it’s probably both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sokkaaaa</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Imula sings before he can see her. She skips into the kitchen with a shit-eating grin on her face. “Guess who’s here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s stomach drops. He shoves the bowl away and stands up, dusting off the front of the tee he’s wearing. A part of him wanted to dress up, but they’re going to be hanging out and he doesn’t need the others to think he’s on a date. It’s why he hadn’t pulled his hair back or put in his contacts, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look a little pale,” his mom says, and when she presses her hand to his forehead, he comes back to reality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay,” Sokka says, peeling her hand off of his forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s just excited to see his boyf—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula stops herself, and Sokka takes account that she’s peering at him with wide eyes and pinched lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time she mentioned any sort of romantic entanglement between Zuko and Sokka, he burst out crying. So, good move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she says, taking her professional stance. “He’s at the backdoor with Solan and...Sokka, are you sick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka furrows his brow. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look a little green.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka waves his hand at them and decides to face the beast. He sees Zuko in class every other day and texts him a few times throughout the daytime. This should be nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Should be</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but today’s the first day I’m officially trying to get him to remember….</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes a deep breath and exhales before stepping out into the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko and Solan look like specks from where he stands, but he can tell that they’re making smalltalk. Something Sokka’s noticed about Lee is that he talks with his hands, and honestly, it’s one of the cutest things he’s seen. He’s doing it now as he comes closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another thing he finds is that Zuko decided to dress up. He’s wearing a button-up sweater with a collared shirt underneath paired with some nice jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka feels a tad underdressed now….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka, come get your ma—companion,” Solan says, shoving Zuko forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko gasps and stumbles a little bit, and of course, Sokka jogs the next couple of feet to make sure he doesn’t fall. He catches Zuko by the elbows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Solan looms over them with a smirk on her face. Sokka glares back, before turning back to Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about that—she can be a bitch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Solan snorts and Sokka sends her another glare before stepping back from Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s his turn to look at Sokka. He does a onceover and immediately blushes. Sokka, in response, also flushes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Zuko says, staring at him in wonderment. “I really like them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s heart flutters in his chest and he averts his gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Th-thank you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Anyway, do you wanna go to my room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s enough of a reason for Sokka to take Zuko by the wrist and pull him towards the stair landing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbles behind Sokka wordlessly as they walk through the long hallway to his bedroom; Lee doesn’t complain either. His hand hangs loosely as he’s being dragged, and it’s kind of comical to Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they approach the door, Sokka lets go of his wrist and faces Zuko. Bewilderment’s etched on his visage, and curiosity shines in his golden eyes. He’s also blushing like mad and the effect it has on Sokka’s heart is almost criminal. Again, he has to look away. He takes the door handle in one hand, but doesn’t turn it yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’ll really like my room,” Sokka says. “There’s a lot I want to show you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of answering, Sokka twists the handle and pushes it open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko cups his hand over his mouth and his gaze goes in every direction—the shelves, the bed, the crested window of a wall. He’s glued to the spot as he hungrily tries to take everything in at once, so Sokka leans into his ear and says, “Look around. Don’t be afraid to touch anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko saunters up to the bookshelf ladder first, feeling the wood under his hand. Druk flutters over and lands on the step of the ladder Zuko’s hand is closest to and chirps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko jumps, startled, but he gasps and holds a hand out. Druk crawls into it and huffs a tiny spark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do that, too,” Zuko says. He steps away from the ladder, holds his hand upward and within a split second, a small blue flame levitates over his palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk chirps again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka melts at the sight before him. Watching Zuko discover the world that Sokka lives in now is endearing. As much as he’s trying to get him to remember the past, there’s something about him now that makes Sokka...at ease, he guesses. Not that </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zuko didn’t. But comfort surrounds him rather than peeks out from time to time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s so cute,” Zuko says to Sokka, facing him. He’s grinning and it spreads to his eyes and it brings Sokka back to the time when they stood in the royal courtyard. Sokka had never seen turtleducks before. Zuko showed him and that same expression echoes through time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes Sokka step closer. It clouds his mind with memories of times where he could’ve said that he loved Zuko but hadn’t. It’s a slippery slope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he gets closer anyway, and he smiles back, even if he can feel the ache of guilt pool in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He likes you,” Sokka says. He holds his hand out and Druk jumps into it, but he cranes his long neck to peer at Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always wanted one, but my parents said I had the turtleducks to play with,” Zuko says, scratching the top of Druk’s head. His little eyes roll back—he loves it when people pet him between the brows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you can come over whenever and enjoy Druk,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Druk?” Zuko asks, peering up at him. “Like Fire Lord Zuko’s dragon?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing his name roll off his tongue stirs a deep-pitted ache within Sokka. He tries to hold their eye contact, but he can’t. “Yeah,” he says. “And actually, I wanted to show you something else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much do you keep in here, anyway?” Zuko asks, following him over to the long white desk Sokka has. Sokka pulls the encased headpiece off of the shelf just above it. He cradles it gently between his palms, and when he turns around, Zuko’s jaw hits the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T-that—wait. That’s just a replica, right?” Zuko steps closer and bends down to get a better look at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh....”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka, that’s Fire Nation property,” Zuko whispers, not out of judgment, but utter shock. His eyes are as wide as saucers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>but</span>
  </em>
  <span> shock. Sokka makes sure to look. No sense of recollection or remembrance in his reaction. He knows it won’t be a sudden realization or anything; it’d probably be a lot like his metamorphosis. But any sign, any….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be nice to have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was lent to me. I’ll give it back eventually.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could get in </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much trouble having this.” Zuko laughs, standing back up straight. “Do you have any other stolen artifacts?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka blushes. They’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>stolen</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they’re borrowed. “I mean, I have Katara’s necklace….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two bounce about Sokka’s room for the next half hour, looking at the things Sokka’s set out and about, hopefully scattered enough for it to not seem...suspicious. But with each artifact they observe, the harder it is to show him the next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s just a guy wandering through a museum. No traces of Zuko stir within him. So, after a while, they abandon the artifacts and begin to discuss their project.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve settled at the foot of the bed. Zuko’s scrolling through his phone; he has several pages of information that he’s looking through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prior research I’ve done,” he answers, finally reaching the bottom of his page. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka blanches. “Wait, how long have you been developing this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you agreed to let me be your partner?” Sokka yelps, a touch of guilt mixing in with the curiosity as to why Zuko did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re useful for what I need, plus we’ll both have to write, anyway.” Zuko hands his phone over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you’re using me?” Sokka gazes at the words on the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d call it being opportunistic,” Zuko says. “Plus, it’s clear that when you put your mind to something, you’ll do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka chuckles, reading over the list. Zuko wants to interview Southern Water Tribe members all over the globe to see how they’re still affected by Fire Nation imperialism and colonialism. He has several names written down—SWT diplomats in places like Caldera and Ba Sing Se, and under the underlined title of Republic City, Sokka sees two names: his own and his father’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I’d be able to give you any information now that I’m a part of the team,” Sokka says. “And my dad….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t expect that you’d want me to interview him,” Zuko says, taking his phone back. He rubs his left eye as he peers down at the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a good idea in theory, but what would happen to his approval ratings?” he asks with dramatic intonation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It gets a laugh out of Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spend an hour or so planning out other days to meet up and who else they could interview for their project. While this part of their research has yet to be greenlit—they’ve only just submitted their project proposal—it doesn’t hurt to plan early. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point, the two shift over to the window. Zuko glanced out at it earlier, and he intends to look out again, but as they get comfortable leaned up against the glass, Kama knocks on the door and peeks in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I come in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama comes in with a tray of fruits and bagged snacks and meets them where they are. She crouches, places the tray on the ground between them, and turns to Zuko. Her gaze is sweet and her smile is warm. “Lee?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s gotten used to Sokka, but the way he stares at his mom states the obvious—he’s a little starstruck. He stands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Lee Hong. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Marniq.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama glances at Sokka and smirks a little—she finds him humorous, Sokka gathers—before standing up herself. He bows to her and she bows back before Zuko sinks back down to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka wonders how many times his mom’s going to let Zuko do that until she tells him that a nod’s fine. It makes him chortle; he stuffs an ocean kumquat in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you boys need anything else, let me know. Okay?” Kama says. She leaves after that, but not without giving Sokka a kiss on the head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s so nice,” Zuko says, eyes a little wild.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka smiles fondly. “Yeah...yeah. She is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two turn to face the sea and snack in silence. Nothing needs to be said—nothing feels awkward. It’s a blissful kind of quiet that Sokka’s not used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d never want to leave this room,” Zuko says after a while, knees tucked as he stares out to sea. It’s a windy day and the water is choppy, but tufts of clouds lazily drift on by, and if Sokka squints, he sees a few boats on the water. “It has everything...and this view….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Sokka says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It can be a little lonely, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you feel lonely a lot?” Zuko asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shrugs a little, eyes glued to the boats bobbing in the distance. “Yeah. I manage, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko says nothing, and at first, Sokka thinks it’s because the conversation’s over. After a few moments, however, Zuko’s gaze begins to burn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Sokka glances in his direction. Zuko sits there furrow-browed and pouting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you manage or do you tell people you do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka raises a brow and leans back onto his palms. He’s trying to ignore the way Zuko watching him makes him feel, but it’s like he’s staring into his soul. There’s no point in lying because he’ll be able to tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Sokka asks, his voice cracking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko looks to the ground and runs his hands along and against the grain of the wood they’re sitting on. “I guess I still don’t completely know you, but...when I kept up with you in the news, you always seemed like you were...lost, I guess. The articles called you weird, but...I just always thought you were lost. You don’t have to tell me why. I don’t really expect you to, but...am I right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stares at Zuko until he’s blurred around the edges. He holds his breath, grips his hands at his sides, and prays for the tears to go away, but he has to blink and they roll down his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If you only knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks. And he does, in a way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Agni. I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Zuko laughs nervously. He takes one of Sokka’s hands and sandwiches it between his—it sends a shock up his arm and Sokka hates how good it feels. “I just...I wanted to ask because I wanted to say that...okay, I know we just met a couple of weeks ago, but I would call you a friend. Unless you don’t want that, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka pulls Zuko into his arms and hugs him so hard it aches. It sounds like he’s constricting the air out of Zuko, yet he wraps his arms around him in response. “You never walk alone, Sokka.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is this what it feels like, having the world between your arms? Zuko’s softer under Sokka’s touch and he easily sinks into him, taking the love he can get, even if it’s not the type he wants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only Zuko knew; if only he remembered. This moment would be much different, probably. More tears and hands and maybe even a kiss. But Zuko’s not there yet. Right now, Sokka has Lee, and he’ll have Zuko. He just has to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he’ll take this. This hug and these words that Lee utters to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You never walk alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka does, and he will until he has his Zuko again. But Lee can make it hurt a little less, he guesses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka will just have to be careful of how close he gets.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sokka. My dude. </p><p>Anyway. </p><p>QotC!!!!<br/>1. Why do you think Sokka switches between mentally calling him "Lee" and "Zuko"? (I promise this is on purpose!!!)<br/>2. Why do you think Lee rubs at his eye? </p><p>Sorry for the later update! I was running errands. I hope y'all enjoyed!</p><p>Always feel free to follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka">Twitter</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Golden Hue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Hey, heading over now. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you sure my dorm isn’t too small? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My roommate’s not here, but. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>It’s fine! I promise. See you soon :)</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka hops down the last set of steps and directly onto the wooden landing. He’s got a goofy little smile on his face and, yeah, he’s probably too giddy for a guy about to see the inside of a cramped dorm room, but here he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s been coming over every other day this past week to work on their project, and with each moment spent together, things start getting a little easier. A part of it is because they’re balls deep into research on their past, so the constant exposure makes Sokka a little more sure of everything. But also...he’ll admit it: it’s nice to have someone to talk to outside of Iroh. Even though there are things that are off-limits until Zuko remembers, Sokka doesn’t feel too anxious around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoving his phone into his pocket, he grabs the banister and twirls onto the stone floors towards the backdoor. The Kyoshi Warriors are already waiting in the back with the Sato and he doesn’t want to make them wait any longer, but just before he can reach the door, someone clears their throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka spins around on his heel and deflates. It’s Hahn, but he doesn’t look pissed—just serious. His brows weigh heavy on his face, but without the usual vexing stare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you come to my office?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes the straps of his backpack and wrings them. He presses his lips together. “I have somewhere to be.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn starts to roll his eyes, but stops himself. His hands clench at his side nonetheless. “I’m asking nicely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you send Mom to summon me?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. (He knows he shouldn’t be testing Hahn’s new approach, but he wants to see if there’s any ulterior motive here.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes narrow. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s never heard him say that word before, so his defenses slip. He nods before he can stop himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He follows Hahn down the long halls and towards the office he keeps up front—Sokka agonizes over it the entire time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they walk into his office, Hahn rounds his desk and takes a seat in front of his computer; Sokka, on the other hand, stands there awkwardly, no chair for him to sit in. (He wonders if it’s because of the last time he was in here...and the last time they ate together….)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to talk to you about your friend,” Hahn says. He picks up his glasses off the desktop and puts them on, adjusting them until they’re on the tip of his nose. He still narrows his eyes to look at the computer screen. “Lee Hong?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anger begins to rouse in the pit of Sokka’s stomach. “How do you know his name?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn peers over the computer monitor with a deadpan look on his face. “He’s been to the Green House four times in this past week—he needs clearance to get in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heat of embarrassment washes over Sokka. “Oh. Uh. Yeah, that’s him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn nods slowly and looks back down at whatever’s on his screen. Sokka tries to make it out in the reflection in his glasses, but he can’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s here on a student visa,” Hahn continues, eyes flitting across the page. “And has a scholarship—parents are well off, but live in the village of Hira’a—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why does it matter?” Sokka groans. “I don’t care if he has money, or if he’s here on scholarship, or a visa, or—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hahn,” his dad says, sitting back in his chair. He clasps his hands together and places them atop his small protruding stomach. “Are you going to the gala with anyone?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rolls his eyes. “No. Why? And what does this have to do with Lee?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alarm flashes in Hahn’s eyes—Sokka barely catches it, but he can see the gears turning in his father’s head. He’s going to try to backpedal. He must’ve thought Sokka was taking Zuko with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not allowed to bring him,” Hahn says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why not?” Sokka bites back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure there are others that have more in common with—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Sokka says. What does he mean by </span>
  <em>
    <span>in common…?</span>
  </em>
  <span> No one else has anything in common with him. Nothing but the fact that they’re—oh. “You think he’s, what? Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>rich </span>
  </em>
  <span>enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn says nothing, which is Sokka’s confirmation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a classist piece of shit!” Sokka snaps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The point of the gala is to raise money for the homeless citizens of—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like fuck you care! If he can’t pay, I will!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn’s nostrils flare. “I wish every conversation wasn’t a fight with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You brought it upon yourself,” Sokka spits and spins around. Like last time, he slams the office door behind him and marches himself to the backyard to meet up with the Kyoshi Warriors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Prez ruffle your feathers?” Imula asks as soon as Sokka plops in the backseat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t get it!” Sokka says. “Like. He constantly outdoes himself for being Shittiest Father of the Year! Does he know he’s such a dick or is he too busy sucking it off to notice?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula cackles until Solan jabs her in the ribs. “Ow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, seriously!” Sokka continues as Solan starts down the road. “All he cares about is that Agni-damn approval rating! And he knows I wouldn’t sell him out to tabloids. Sometimes I wish I had the guts to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have an NDA?” Solan asks, glancing at him in the rearview mirror before taking a left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have an NDA for classified information, not verbal abuse.” Sokka huffs, leaning back into the seat with his arms crossed over his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the ride is silent, all except the barely audible radio playing FirePop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While they usually take the train to get off of the peninsula, they have the time to take the Sato over the Silk Road Bridge. Sokka watches the sun reflect off of the bobbing waters as they fly on by, trying his best to not think about how insufferable his father is, but the anger continues to fester within him. It’s a disease, really. And the constant exposure to the very thing infecting him doesn’t make it any better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s still brooding when the Warriors pull up to Zuko’s dorm. His brows hood his eyes and his frown’s so set, he’s sure he’ll have lines around his mouth when it settles back to its proper place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee’s going to think he did something wrong if you walk in like that,” Imula says, reeling around to face him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t help it,” Sokka grumbles, doubling down by crossing his arms across his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’re here, Pouty. So get out before we toss you to the curb.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not allowed to do that,” Sokka mumbles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tui and La, kid. Just get out and meet up with your project partner!” Imula scrambles to unbuckle, gets out of the Sato, and yanks his door open. “Come on. Out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka huffs, grabs his backpack, and slings it over his shoulder as he hops out of the Sato. He waits there for any further instruction, deadpan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try smiling,” Imula says, shutting his door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rolls his eyes and smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Imula rubs her chin and tuts. “Whatever, but if he thinks you’re mad at him, I told you so. We’ll just be...here, I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Imula hops back in the Sato and closes her door, Sokka faces the dorm looming over him and pulls up his messages. He sends Zuko a single text. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Here</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Within only a few seconds, Zuko bustles through the double doors, phone in hand and eyes directly on it. He almost trips on the mat in front of the door, but Sokka, much like last week, catches him so he won’t fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to stop tripping every time I’m in your vicinity,” Zuko says once he’s stable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I just have that effect on you,” Sokka says without thinking. He only registers that he did so when Zuko stares at him with wide eyes and a blush starts to span his nose and cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the flustered state flickers out and something else replaces it; he goes suddenly pale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka peers around to see what Zuko is looking at, but there’s nothing he notices: no paparazzi, no giant man-eating monster. He faces Zuko again, befuddled. “Are you okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that, Zuko snaps out of it—like he was in a trance. He wears the same look of confusion Sokka is sure he’s sporting. He takes a step closer to Sokka and raises a hand gingerly to Sokka’s cheek, but stops before he can touch him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks, then must realize how close they’re standing because he scrambles backward and goes red again. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What just happened?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” he asks again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko nods, keeping his eyes either on the ground or the sky. “Yeah. What about you? You don’t look too happy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn it, really?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sokka smooths his brows out a little and hopes they’re not as furrowed. “Dad shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Zuko takes a deep breath, exhales, and finally peers back at Sokka. “I think I could use a walk. What about you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka, still thrown off by what in the world just happened, agrees. They might as well since they’re both not quite...there. It’s more productive than just sitting around and staring at each other until they feel ready to work on the project. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka starts down the sidewalk, Zuko at his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any destination?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Sokka statue, I guess,” Zuko says. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Huh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks. Not that he was going to suggest that, but it gives Zuko exposure to possible recollection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they amble along, the Sato trailing slowly behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything on your mind?” Sokka asks as the two round the cobblestone corner. He shoves his hands in his pockets, not sure what else he should say, but he feels like he shouldn’t just stand there, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A week ago, Zuko extended his hand out for Sokka to take. As soon as they formed that bond, Sokka knew he needed to be there for him as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A lot, actually,” Zuko admits. He peers up at Sokka and gauges him for a moment—he only stops when Sokka pulls him out of the way of a light pole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good Spirits,” Zuko huffs, staring at the light pole even as they pass. Sokka takes it upon himself to link their arms so he can guide him about and not worry about him getting hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know when I’m that distracted, I always want to talk to someone about it,” Sokka says. He pulls them across the street and towards the giant bronze statue of himself. “I mean you don’t have to tell me, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would,” Zuko says, stopping and in turn yanking Sokka back as soon as they step back onto the sidewalk. “I would. But...I guess I don’t know how to describe it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Sokka says, unraveling his arm from Zuko’s; he shoves his hand into his pocket, “if you want to divulge, I’m all ears.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s statue sits just in front of the Southern Water Tribe Cultural Center. A garden of sorts lays at the statue’s feet. As summer’s still lingering on, most of the plants are wilted, but as autumn comes in with a cool breeze, they’ll start to come to life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee and Sokka take a seat on the concrete bench, set among the withered flowers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s only visited this statue a couple of times since he remembered. It’s always so weird to see the footsteps he’s left behind and how monumental they were. He’s nothing but the son of an important person now. Back then, he was a war hero. People still remember him as that—it’s hard not to when there's a giant statue of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I’ve told you this before, but you look so much like him,” Zuko says; his words sink in and send a chill up Sokka’s spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks this a lot, but yet again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>if he only knew….</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a direct descendent to him on my mom’s side,” Sokka says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Direct?” Zuko’s eyes flicker from Sokka, to the statue, and back with an inquisitive look on his face. “I thought he didn’t have kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka flushes, and an echo of remorse resonates in his chest. It was an accident—a one night stand with a neighboring Water Tribe woman who disappeared the morning after. He never really knew, but he had a hunch after a woman with his face moved to his village and had a baby named Korra. Those little blue eyes that stared up at him were identical to those he saw when he looked in the mirror, so he always considered her his. But his existence </span>
  <em>
    <span>now </span>
  </em>
  <span>proves his hypothesis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one really knew either until I took a DNA test.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Zuko says, head cocked and eyes attentive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah...I found some of Sokka’s hair in the national archives and everyone said I always looked like him, so long story short, I’m a descendant of Sokka </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> Avatar Korra.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe Sokka’s related to Korra. I mean, it makes sense, but. Wow,” Zuko says, almost in awe. His eyes grow wide and he continues taking glances from person Sokka to statue Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka chortles and props his forearms against his knees. A fleeting thought passes in his mind, and he almost says it aloud, but thankfully bites his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee is </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the way he’s sitting with his knees pressed to his chest, taking in the large boomerang-wielding statue, to the way his eyes gleam underneath the cerulean sky, the warm gold contrasting its cool reflection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee really is a nerd, an absolute geek. Who would want to come to a giant statue for fun?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is he your favorite?” Sokka asks him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko shrugs. “I think he’s fascinating, I guess. He’s done so much for both the Southern Water Tribe and Republic City. He’s...also why I wanted to befriend you. You kind of personify him. I guess literally, since you’re related and all….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought it was because I was the President’s son,” Sokka says, nudging him with a smirk curling at his lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s actually it,” Zuko says. “As penance for burning off your eyebrow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka laughs, and Zuko joins him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I’m extra glad you burned off my eyebrow, then,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s grinning, the smile reaching his eyes and brightening up his face—his best self, really, when he’s all crinkle-eyed like that—but then, the grin softens to a smile which dulls to a flatline. He diverts his gaze to the ground and rests his chin atop his knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could be friends with anyone and you chose to be friends with me,” he says, his words wispy. They almost drift away, but Sokka catches them. Those words catch him off guard and twist around his heart like a prickle snake, constricting it until it’s throbbing painfully against its constraint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko isn’t just anyone; he’s Sokka’s soulmate—his destiny, his fate. He’s the man that Sokka made that promise to all of those years ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee, on the other hand, is his adorable counterpart that carries so much love and passion within him. Zuko had both of those things, sure, but Lee’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lee</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he’s not afraid to show that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if Lee wasn’t Zuko, would Sokka have gotten to know him? Or would he have just passed by? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s stomach clenches at the thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not the right time to hark back to the past, though. Lee needs him to say something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a lot like me,” Sokka says. He scoots over a tad and hesitates to rest a hand on his shoulder. He does so anyway. “You think I’m lost and you’re right. But...you’re a little lost, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko leans into his touch and seems to revel in it. So, Sokka wraps his entire arm around him and he sinks into his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s heart flutters; the prickle snake in turn migrates and wraps itself around his gut, and the hints of shame rouse within him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who am I talking to? Lee or Zuko?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I tell you something?” Zuko asks. Again, his words are soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can tell me anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re probably going to think I’m crazy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka snorts and peers down at him. Him? Think Zuko’s crazy? “Try me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko momentarily peers up at him through his thick, dark lashes but focuses back on the statue. “Sometimes I have dreams about being alive during the Hundred Year War. But...but the thing is, they don’t feel like dreams. It’s like I’m...I don’t know. Remembering something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka goes frigid, his entire body stiffening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko pulls away. “I told you that you’d think—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that,” Sokka says hastily. He rolls his shoulders back and turns to Zuko. “Trust me. I don’t think you’re crazy. When did you start having these dreams?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko lets his feet fall off the bench and he plants them to the ground. He leans onto his knees like Sokka was earlier. “Honestly? Probably the same time I met you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka tries to suppress the grin that wants to spring to his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe the exposure </span>
  </em>
  <span>is</span>
  <em>
    <span> helping, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sokka thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it makes you feel lost?” Sokka asks, probably sounding a bit too much like Wang Fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko doesn’t catch the therapist-esque intonation of his voice, however, or chooses to ignore it. “Confused. But I’ve always been confused. I’m always wondering why, you know? Why, as a Fire Nation citizen, do I care so much about the history of the Southern Water Tribe? Why is my connection to the culture so strong? And, it’s like these dreams are, I guess, trying to piece that together?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka deflates a little; Zuko’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> close. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> there—what could Sokka do to push him off the ledge and into the waters of remembrance? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. The crown prince headpiece</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I mean, that would make sense.” Sokka smiles, but he doubts that it’s full or appears genuine. “I don’t think it’s weird, though. I don’t think anything’s weird. I’m the guy that visits the Spirit World on a pretty regular basis.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko chuckles. “I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka goes to say something else, but his phone buzzes. He fishes it out of his back pocket—a text from Solan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re going to want to head back to the dorm. Someone called the paps.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sokka huffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Zuko says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fucking paparazzi were called,” Sokka mumbles. He stands from the bench and holds his hand out to hoist Zuko up. “As much as I don’t care, I do not want to be further harassed by my father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko shakes his head and rubs his left eye like there’s something in it. “No offense, but I do</span>
  <em>
    <span> not </span>
  </em>
  <span>like your father, even though he’s the President.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka chuckles and the two start back down the road that took them to the statue. “I don’t either. It’s fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened earlier, anyway?” Zuko asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka launches into how much of a prick his father is—the typical mouthful he spouts off before getting to the root of the actual matter. As he explains the </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> issue, Zuko has to guide him by his arm this time and as soon as he’s done, they’re walking through the halls of his dorms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going to like what I have to say,” Zuko says, swiping his keycard. The door beeps and the two walk into the tiny dorm room composed of two small beds only a few feet apart from each other, desks, and a whole lot of storage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, do you agree with him?” Sokka asks, peering around. Even though it’s the size of a shoebox, it’s charming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t agree with him grilling you about my finances or status in the city, but I understand why he wouldn’t want me to come.” Zuko plops down on his bed; Sokka remains standing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why shouldn’t you?” Sokka asks, placing his hands on his hips, yet trying his best to curb the defensiveness in his tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have the money to get in.” Zuko shrugs, rolling onto his knees and reaching up into one of his shelves. He grabs a display box and rolls back onto his ass. “Plus, aren’t you supposed to bring a date?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A plus one isn’t a date—what is that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko holds the box like it’s a sacred relic, gingerly between his palms. “I’ll show you it when you wind down. I think you’ll like it, but it’s pretty much priceless. I don’t want you to break it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! I know how to handle precious items,” Sokka says, taking a seat next to Zuko. “I’m sitting down. Can I look?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko rolls his eyes but hands it over anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sokka takes the box into his hands, he doesn’t know what to expect: maybe something geeky or museum gift store-ish. Instead, he’s holding a box with a small space rock; the placard reads: “Sokka’s Meteor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka doesn’t know what about Zuko having this makes his stomach whir with butterflies. Maybe it’s the past echoing through the way Lee lives. But the fact that he has this….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where did you get it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Family heirloom. My mom passed it down to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods, fixated on the rock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I knew that rock would chill you out, I would’ve given it to you a long time ago,” Zuko says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still thinking about it. I’m just distracted.” Finally, Sokka turns towards Zuko and hands back the rock, his heart fluttering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, it hits him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The formal wear? The headpiece?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That would </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to trigger something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka was going to find a reason for him to come anyway, but this drives the final nail in the coffin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about the price of the gala, by the way,” Sokka says when Zuko rolls back onto his knees to put the case back on the shelf. “I can pay it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait. No, you don’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee, I want you to go to the gala with me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko shifts into a criss-cross and cocks his head; he looks adorable. “We have a part of the project due that day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can turn it in early,” Sokka says, leaning forward, maybe a little too close because his heart thuds against his ribcage and Zuko’s cheeks are so warm, they could catch fire. “We can be bored together. I mean, only if you want to, but please?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only formal clothes I have are at home and are...uh. A little small.” Zuko leans back into his palms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you interested in a sugar daddy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko goes tomato red. “I-I’m older than you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka tries not to deflate, but he must because Zuko pouts a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to go,” Zuko says. “I do. It’s just...I don’t want you to spend—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All expenses covered.” Sokka sits up a little straighter. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. We can go shopping for your outfit and tailor it the same day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe this,” Zuko says, sighing. “Or you, or anything. But...okay. Yes. I’ll go to the gala and be bored with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All smiles and lines and everything beautiful stare back at Sokka, but there’s something different about the way Zuko looks at him; it’s softer. Back then, Zuko used to look at him like that all of the time, but Sokka hadn’t registered it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he had, they wouldn’t be sitting where they are right now; or he wouldn’t be understanding it like he is, but that gaze is laced with the words that won’t come until later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka loves him back. Spirits, he loves him </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much, but he has to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully not much longer. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, I've been noticing a divide in the comments. Some of you are Team Lee and some of you are Team Zuko. Which one are you and why? I would share, but I'm also writing the story, so I can't say lmao. </p><p>Anyway, my QotC is: </p><p>1. What questions do you have for me? If there are any misunderstandings that won't be explained later, I can answer and post those answers in the notes of the next chapter as well! </p><p>2. Do you think the research is making Lee remember?</p><p>3. What songs remind you of the fic? (I have a playlist that I'll eventually make public once it's sorted out because it's kind of messy rn)</p><p>UPDATE: Hi! Here's the <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TG3JuSrHCczgBGqM3sgBE?si=aa264977b5c14b29">public playlist</a> for the fic! It'll update with each chapter :)</p><p>Until next week, friends!  Remember to follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka">Twitter</a>!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. This Night Is Sparkling (Don't You Let It Go)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sokka had promised that they could get the paper done </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> the gala—a promise that was hastily retracted when the two realized that they would need to put in more time and energy before officially submitting it. So, hours before the gala, Lee showed up to work with Sokka. They had already finished most of it, and by the time they got down to merely giving it another look before submitting, the gala was fast approaching; the duo decided to take turns: while one got dressed, the other read over the paper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s laying belly-down on his bed now, donned in pelts and skins his mother hand-sewed for him, scrolling through the last few bits of the paper they need to turn in. He’s read these pages several times before; he’s looked at it for so long he could probably close his eyes and still see the document screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka?” Zuko calls from over near Sokka’s desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Sokka says, getting to the last few words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you done?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost.” Sokka gets to the very last period and hits save; he pulls up the upload page and drags the file into the submission box. After clicking the submit button, Sokka slams the laptop shut and pushes himself off the bed. “Now I am! Okay, we don’t have to think about that for, like, a day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice—now that you’re done, can you help me out?” Zuko asks. From where he’s standing—because he’s not wearing his glasses—Zuko’s just a body with blurry edges, but as he gets closer, he gets a clearer view of the man before him. Zuko's dressed in formal Fire Nation robes they’d hunted down and bought uptown. They’re blood-red with flickers of gold amongst its silk and the fabric is thin enough to where it billows beautifully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While the silk’s a great choice, Zuko’s managed to tangle himself in the fabric that’s meant to go around his waist. The sight almost makes Sokka laugh, but he doesn’t want to embarrass Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s unable to suppress a smile, though, as he walks up to him to untangle the belt from his body. Once the fabric’s in his hands, he holds it out for Zuko. “Here. Where’s the coat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still on the hanger—thank you,” Zuko says, turning a delicate shade of pink while Sokka unknots the ties that hold the upper garment in place and over his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While they were out shopping for his robes, the salesman had shown Zuko exactly how to tie it; thankfully, Sokka remembered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you never worn one of these before?” Sokka asks, taking the belt back from Zuko’s hands. He wraps it around his waist for him and pulls him a little closer with it, trying to ignore the way his heart flip-flops in response to their proximity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, yeah. But this fabric is slippery and a lot nicer, and ties a little differently.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods, finishing off his work with the belt. It looks about right, so he crosses the room and grabs the hanger holding the loose flowing coat made of black silk—that, too, is embroidered with gold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s about to join him in front of the mirror, but before he parts from Sokka’s desk, Sokka says, “Wait, grab the headpiece.” He points to a shelf slightly above Zuko’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-what?” Zuko asks, looking from Sokka, to the headpiece, and back with wide eyes. “What’s your plan?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please? I promise it’ll be worth it.” Sokka smiles at him extra sweet and Zuko huffs, but turns around and gingerly grabs it anyway, walking slowly over towards Sokka once the case is in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hangs the coat back up and takes the case from Zuko’s hands and tosses the glass lid onto the bed. Zuko gasps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chill, Hotman. I bought the casing myself,” Sokka says, now taking the headpiece into his hands. Zuko gasps again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to,” Sokka says. “Give me your hair.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s an ancient relic!” Zuko squeaks. “You shouldn’t be touching that! They’re going to find out you have it because of your fingerprints and you’ll get in trouble and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Sokka rests a hand on Zuko’s shoulder and gives it a gentle rub. The silk under his palm feels luxurious and soft. “Can you put on the coat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko scrunches his face up, brows furrowed and meeting in the middle. (Sokka can’t help but think he is blatantly adorable like this.) He crosses his arms, too, but that only lasts for a couple of seconds because Sokka pulls out his magic charm—the puppy dog eyes. This immediately dissolves the pout, but he holds up the bratty act.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Zuko groans, fetching the coat from its hanger and pulling it on. He does it effortlessly and in one motion, and with the way the silk flows fluidly through the air, it almost looks like he’s waterbending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he’s cloaked in the black silk, Sokka turns him around so Zuko’s facing away. He begins to pull his hair up into a ponytail, then into a knot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not wearing it out there,” Zuko says. “I’d get in </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much trouble.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You live in the village Fire Lady Ursa was born in; they’d probably just think you have relations,” Sokka says, pushing the pin through the headpiece. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, everything’s in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This might be a shot in the dark, Sokka knows, but he thinks the circumstances are similar enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A handful of years after Zuko became the Fire Lord, Sokka was at the palace for business. They had some downtime and were dicking around when Sokka said that he should try on the crown. Just like last time, Zuko was shy. Just like last time, Sokka pinned up his hair for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe this will trigger something, maybe it won’t. But either way, Zuko looks amazing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m done! Are you ready to see?” Sokka asks. These were the same words he’d said to Zuko when he did it all those lifetimes ago, and he adjusts him towards the mirror in the same way as well: one hand on each shoulder, gingerly inching him around to face himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beautiful is an understatement—Zuko looks ethereal, even in the dull yet warm lamplight that sets this room ablaze. With his hair pulled up like it is, his undercut is on full display. His eyes—Spirits, his eyes—are a sight to behold. The typical gold hue is deepened to a honey tone in the dim lighting. The outfit, the way the silks sit on his body and the headpiece is placed atop his head, only adds to the visage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To complete the Fire Lord facade, Druk flies from his little home on Sokka’s desk and lands directly on Zuko’s shoulder. That snaps Sokka out of his goo-goo eyeing and he focuses on the way Zuko’s looking at himself in the mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, he’s not looking at himself. He’s looking at Sokka, head cocked oh-so slightly to the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Sokka asks, voice cracking mid-word. He clears his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko doesn’t answer; he turns to Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I touch it?” Zuko asks, fingers hovering near one of the small braids he doesn’t usually wear in his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko takes it between his fingers and runs his thumb over the bead braided in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so close to Sokka, their chests almost touching, and Sokka’s heart pounds against his ribcage, begging to break free, to be heard, for Zuko to know what he does to Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems, however, he’s in his own little world. His hand migrates from the braids to the fur epaulet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is beautiful,” Zuko practically whispers. His fingers brush over the intricate stitch working on the sleeve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mom made it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hint of a smile appears on Zuko’s lips; he pulls his hand away and gazes into Sokka’s eyes. For a minute, he thinks he catches a hint of recollection swimming in those pools of gold, but maybe he’s just mistaking that for simple admiration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look beautiful,” Zuko says, his hand falling to his side. A blush spreads across his cheeks, but he holds their eye contact unabashedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lump forms in the back of Sokka’s throat. The bloom of exhilaration in his heart wilts, and the desire he has for the man in front of him—Lee—feels more like a sin than anything else. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to wait for him to remember</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he knows, in the pits of his soul, that he has feelings for the man in front of him as he is. Whether he ever remembers or not. (The thought of the latter makes him nauseous.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should take a look at yourself,” Sokka says, hoping he’s not outwardly displaying the conflict working within his mind—now that he’s back in the moment, it seems that he hasn’t. Zuko’s grinning at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s the first to pull away, thank Agni, and turns back to the mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t take the headpiece out, but can I take Druk? I feel like he’d start a pretty cool conversation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost like Druk can understand, he cranes his long neck to stare at Sokka with pleading eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as Sokka wants Zuko to himself, there’s really no other reason to tell him no. The gala’s at the Green House this year. Sokka can leave his bedroom door open and Druk can find his way back if he gets tired or needs to use the restroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, Zuko wants this, so he’s more than willing to give it to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After taking the headpiece back from Zuko (and fluffing his hair up) and placing it back on the shelf where it was, the two set out, walking shoulder to shoulder, to the gala hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking through the Green House corridors is something Sokka does daily. He doesn’t give it a second thought as they walk through; Zuko, on the other hand, hasn’t. It’s not something Sokka remembers until he’s turned into the corridor that delivers them to the gala. He’s halfway to the double doors when he notices the lack of an echo from a second pair of footsteps. He comes to a full stop and looks around. Zuko’s nowhere to be seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a few minutes to retrace his steps; he knows the place backwards, forwards, and sideways, but when he has to </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> for someone, he’s suddenly forgotten where everything is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s standing in front of a portrait in one of the earlier corridors they passed through, and when Sokka gets close enough, he sighs at the sight of the portrait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The city commissioned a painting of Team Avatar. The art’s not bad—they look like themselves—but the posing was awful. Out of all of the pictures Zuko had to be hung up on, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko won’t budge. He’s entranced by the thing—eyes wide, hungrily trying to take in every aspect of the painting at once. Only does he snap out of whatever state he’s in when Sokka stands next to him. But his eyes are still wide and wandering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brows furrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(What Sokka would do to know what’s going through his head….)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Zuko finally says, turning his attention back to the painting, “even though being queer was decriminalized under Fire Lord Zuko, there’s still a lot of revisionism.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rests his hands on his hips, gauging the piece to see what would make him bring that up. “Yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to think this is kind of silly, probably,” Zuko says, his voice getting quieter with each word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me anyway.” Sokka peeks over at Zuko. He suddenly looks very small in those very grand silks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A lot of historians think that Ambassador Sokka’s and Fire Lord Zuko’s friendship was a lot more than that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A prickling feeling spreads across his body; of course Sokka knew that—he was the one to feed said historians that information—but if Zuko knows, too, or cares….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zuko was at his side when he died,” Sokka says, trying to mask the grin that’s fighting to be on his face. “Katara said that Sokka had told him something, but Zuko died with those words. No one but he and Sokka knew what was said.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think it was?” Zuko asks him. He seems to have lost interest in that portrait but begins to trail in the opposite direction of the party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka follows—he paid for both of them and all, but there’s no rush. These things last until about dawn and the sun has yet to fully set. Plus, this offers Sokka a chance to infodump on Zuko and hope he picks up on </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A love confession,” Sokka says, a dull ache running through him; it mirrors the injuries he endured that night, and while it’s only a ghost of the pain, it affects him enough to where he holds his side. “Promising they’ll be together someday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko, who walks at his side, peers up at him with a dreamy gaze. “That would be sweet. Have you ever read that historical novel about it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka comes to a full stop and almost topples over from his abruptness. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko turns, humor twinkling in his eyes; he smiles. “Yeah. I mean, everyone knows that Fire Lord Zuko wasn’t quite right after Ambassador Sokka died. Some lady wrote a historical novel on what she thinks happened. But there’s a ton of historical fiction on the two—romances. Seriously. I don’t know if you’d be interested in reading a romance about your how-many-times great grandfather, but.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Sokka was too busy reading history books and harping on their inaccuracies, he completely missed the fact that there are fully fictional novels on the matter? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On top of that, Zuko presumably </span>
  <em>
    <span>reads</span>
  </em>
  <span> them? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What world does Sokka live in? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You read those things,” Sokka says to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko blushes, brushing some hair out of his eyes. “It’s interesting. I’ve always been curious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The humor in the situation suddenly fades and a numbness slinks its way through Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only Zuko dug deep enough….</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Those words live within us</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks, staring back at Zuko. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’re in you. Just think.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Zuko asks. He lessens the gap between them and takes Sokka’s hand. It’s like he pushes fire into his arm; a stinging sensation works from the palm of his hand up to his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You didn’t say enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka can’t be mad at Zuko. He knows he can’t. It takes time and patience for hundreds of years to roll back, but with how much time Zuko seems to be entrenched in it, in their pasts, in what made them who they were, it’s not there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka knows—he’ll just have to try harder. He will. But...it’s just a tad exhausting knowing just how far gone Zuko is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Sokka finally says. His voice falls flat and his response stirs something within Zuko. He yanks his hand away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t lie to me,” he says. “Did I say something? The only way I can understand why you went all...gray is if we talk about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing more painful than having to deny Zuko the knowledge he has to bear, but it’s self-preservation and the hopes to keep a good relationship with Lee that matter more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though he wants to get on his knees and beg Zuko to remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It hurts too much to talk about,” Sokka says, his voice thick. “I’ll talk to you about it someday—I promise. But for now, I just want to sit in a corner and get drunk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko takes his hand back into his, caressing Sokka’s chapped knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “The media’s going to have something to say about that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While his tone is lighthearted and teasing, Sokka knows he’s telling the truth. He can’t quite find himself to care right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not about anything. Not himself, or the gala, or what people think. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he wants to be, in spite of everything, is self-indulgent right now. So, he takes Zuko’s hand into his grasp and entwines their fingers. Sokka can feel his sharp intake of breath, even if Zuko tries to mask it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay with this?” Sokka asks, holding their joined hands up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What will people say?” Zuko asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care about what anyone out there thinks,” Sokka says, pulling Zuko a little closer. He fully faces him. “I won’t do this if it makes you uncomfortable, but don’t let what they think get in the way of what you want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko peers up at Sokka, and their closeness should, yet again, make him giddy. He would be if he wasn’t so fucking numb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Zuko asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just stay by my side,” Sokka says, squeezing Zuko’s hand. He’s about to guide him down the corridor and to the banquet room, but Zuko pulls him back and right into his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The intimacy startles Sokka, but when Zuko envelopes him, a swirling sense of safety ignites in his chest. The flame’s small, easy to burn out, but it’s there. He wraps his arms around Zuko and buries his face into the Drukless shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to do anything reckless,” Zuko says in his ear. It’s soft and warm against his ear and makes his eyes sting. “I know you’ll regret it if—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Sokka lifts his head and stares Zuko in the eye. “I won’t have any regrets being seen holding your hand. Don’t think that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s eyes flicker with warmth. “So you’re okay with being seen with—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The better question is: are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay with the backlash?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no hesitation. Zuko says, “I’m fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, it’s settled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After drying teary eyes and smoothing out any wrinkles in the silk, the two navigate the labyrinth of the Green House corridors and finally slip into the gala minutes after it’s already started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though the night has just begun, things are in full swing. Esteemed people from all over are here: Earth Kingdom, Fire Nation, Air Nomads, Water Tribes—all in the regalia that represents their cultures. Somewhere bobbing about with other women from the Water Tribes is Sokka’s mother, and surely, Hahn Sr. tucked away with the World Leaders (including the Avatar). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka and Zuko, from a quick glance, seem to be the outliers. People as young as them usually don’t get into parties like this, but here they are, hanging around farther away from everyone else, quite unsure of what they can do. (And frankly, Sokka’s not in the mood to do much of anything anymore.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gourmet buffet tables packed with foods from all over the world sit not too far from them, and on their end are crystal flutes of wine. Sokka’s not much of a drinker, but maybe a little alcohol in his body will loosen him up a bit. Tonight, after all, is supposed to be enjoyable. So, he tugs Zuko by the hand and only drops it when he picks up two of the flutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two retreat back to a wall far away from where everything is happening, glasses of wine in hand. Much like in Sokka’s room, the wall is made of glass; unlike his room, the wall is flat and looks out at metropolitan Republic City. From where they stand, they can watch the traffic driving through the heart of downtown or watch the neon lights flicker on for the night. The sky painted before them looks like cotton candy, the tufts of clouds adding to the illusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two stand there silently for a while. At some point, Zuko takes Sokka’s hand again. He holds onto his fingers wordlessly and sips on his drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko gets them the next round of wine, and when he returns with their glasses, he holds one out to Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Sokka says, taking the glass. He holds it up to his lips, tips his head back, and swallows it in one gulp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko gives Sokka a wary look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Sokka promises and walks back to the buffet table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the chefs eyes him when he reaches for another two glasses and Sokka ignores it, taking them anyway. When he gets back to Zuko, he’s sitting on the ground, looking out at the city while he toys with the crystal in hand. Sokka slips it from his grip and slides in a replacement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is probably a silly question,” Zuko asks as Sokka settles down on the ground with him, “but have you ever met the Avatar?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka leans against the window and even though it’s only early autumn, the window’s cold against his cheek. With all of the bodies in the room and the leather he’s wearing, it’s refreshing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Sokka says after a moment of enjoying the frigidity of the glass. His eyes flash to Zuko who’s flushing from the wine. He’s sure he is too. He’s barely started sipping his third glass and his head feels slightly like a bee’s buzzing around his brain. “He’s okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing like Aang, obviously. Nor Korra. The couple of Avatars after her were...okay, Sokka guesses, but he couldn’t honestly list them by name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko chuckles quietly and it sounds minutely wine-induced with how it lingers too long; Sokka takes a look at him and he, too, is leaned up against the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Sokka asks, drinking the last of the third glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never hear anyone talk negatively about the Avatar.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t being negative,” Sokka says, turning his head to the window again. Instead of the night sky, he sees the scene in front of them in its reflection. Fleets of new people continue to push their way into the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I know.” Zuko sets his empty crystal on the carpet they’re sitting atop of. “You just didn’t sound...thrilled, I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to be if you’ve known people like Aang and Korra. They were such important people to Sokka—no one, no Avatar, could compare to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair go silent again. Or, Sokka does, really. He doesn’t have much to say. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> he say? Sokka decides that nothing is better than something in this circumstance and Zuko doesn’t extrapolate the conversation, which Sokka thanks him for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A contemporary twist on a folk Fire Nation song rouses the audience, and in the reflection of the glowing room mirroring from the window, Sokka sees swirling bodies taking up the dance floor. It looks to be mostly people and their significant others, and if Sokka sees correctly, even his father is there, stiffly sidestepping with his mother. They look to be talking—Spirits knows about what—as they shuffle from side to side in the designated area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should go down there,” Zuko says. He’s leaning back against the window, facing towards and watching the party with some sense of interest. Druk’s tucked in his arms and he’s using one of his hands to stroke the pygmy’s back. Lolling his head towards Sokka, he smiles. “I know you’d prefer to sit, but we dressed up for a reason, didn’t we?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka guesses he’s right—he can’t find himself to argue. He’s not big on dancing, but if Zuko and Druk—who flits out of Zuko’s hands and towards the hordes of people—want to get up and about, he doesn’t want to hold them back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko pushes himself off of the ground, nearly tripping on the silk under his feet as he does so, and holds his hands out for Sokka to take. The minute they have a firm grip on each other, Zuko pulls him up. (He’s surprisingly strong—Sokka feels like he’s weightless in his grasp.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two fumble towards the dance floor hand in hand with Druk as their guide, and as soon as they’re standing on top of the polished wood floor, Druk perches on Zuko’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something a little softer starts to play. The soft rhythm of the drum offers more of a reason for the two of them to sway along rather than side by side, so Zuko takes Sokka’s hand and pulls him a little closer; their chests touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s body moves for him. His arms lace around his waist and he pulls him even closer. Zuko blushes and responds by tossing his arms around Sokka’s neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two sway to the steady beat accompanied by other instruments, but the heartbeat pace of the rhythm is something Sokka recognizes. It sounds much like the tiny drum his mother used to play when she sang him to sleep, and a sweeping sense of comfort blankets him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka turns them slightly so he can take a look at the drum, and sure enough, it’s a much larger version of something he’s sure his mother still has somewhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of my friends has one of those,” Zuko says, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did they ever play it for you?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t, but when he took me to any traditional ceremonies, it was a key part of it.” There’s a trace of longing in his eyes, a nostalgia that persists in how he gazes at the instrument. It strikes a chord in Sokka’s chest, and with that, the numbness starts to dissipate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still don’t get why you came to Republic City,” Sokka says, taking note of the way Zuko’s gaze is far away—far out of this room, far out of this city. “It seems like you really loved SWTU.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko chortles, snapping back to where they are. He peers back up at Sokka and smiles, and it’s warm and sincere. It further melts away the ache in Sokka. “I do. I love it a lot. But...I’m glad I came here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Sokka says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The song has ended, but the two sway to its beat even if the music’s picked up. Something a little more contemporary, and definitely not played by the full band that they have in house. Sokka doesn’t pay much mind to it. Not when Zuko’s gaze pins him to the spot like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s warm and penetrating all the same, filled with emotions undecipherable on Sokka’s end. But he gets a hint of it—there’s a heavy sense of admiration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of Zuko’s hands slides down to Sokka’s chest. He places a hand over his heart and begins to pick at one of the red decorative stitches. A faint flush washes over his cheeks, but again, he doesn’t look away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I weren’t here, I wouldn’t have met you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka bites his bottom lip; his heart feels like wings are beating inside of his chest, begging to break free from its cage. A wash of pure ecstasy rolls through him and he pulls Zuko a little closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the same time, a faint voice in his head whispers, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not yet. He’s not your Zuko.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, then. I’m glad you came,” Sokka says anyway, and he means it more than he can let Zuko know. But he’ll figure it out someday. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not yet!</span>
  </em>
  <span> it says again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka pulls Zuko closer regardless and rests his chin atop his head. He smells like jasmine and honey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko melts into him like he’s meant to be tucked in Sokka’s side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plus,” Zuko says after a moment; he pulls his head from under Sokka’s chin and looks him in the eye, “if we get the greenlight to travel for the project, we can go back there together.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka smiles, and the smile stretches into a grin. There’s so many things he can show Zuko all over the world. They can fall back into step with their old selves this way—retrace the steps they took together all those years ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the Southern Water Tribe….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you most looking forward to if we get the greenlight?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko half smiles. “Depending when we can go, the southern lights.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lump forms in his throat, the will to cry suddenly smacking him across the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The southern lights….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night he wanted to first tell Zuko, they sat together on the wall until they were summoned for some official business. He lost his chance then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night Sokka died, the chartreuses and lilacs painted the sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just...always loved the way they lit up the sky and I-I’d love to look at them with you,” Zuko says. “I know this perfect place and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka doesn’t register what he’s doing until he does it. He tucks a knuckle under Zuko’s chin and tilts it up until he has proper access. He presses a soft kiss to his lips. Nothing less than chaste, but just as he’s about to pull away, Zuko locks him in place and kisses him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kisses him with all of the fervor that could build up in the span of over two hundred years. Zuko kisses him softly at first. It’s a gentle kind of excitement. But then, the desire deepens; he goes in closer and kisses him in a way that makes Sokka want to pull him behind a curtain to be a little more indulgent. But before Sokka can give Zuko just that, that voice screams.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That is not your Zuko! That’s Lee!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yanking away, Zuko whines and it twists Sokka up inside—he wants to give him more, but not yet—but when the flashing of the photographer’s cameras starts, another thing comes to mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What will the press do to Lee?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horror strikes him just the same time Sokka starts pacing backward, almost stumbling. He takes off before Sokka does in the opposite way he’s stepping back, the silks billowing behind him. He dodges between surprised bodies and the oblivious who must’ve not seen it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka turns and runs into the bowels of the Green House before he can watch Lee escape; the upcoming fight he knows he’s going to have with his dad looms above his head as he twists and turns through the halls. He only stops when he hits the cool stone floor of the back of the house. He collapses onto the stone, rests his hot cheek against the frigid floor, and closes his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Have mercy on Lee</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks as bitter tears roll down his cheeks. He doesn’t know what to feel, or think, or do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On one hand, the world knows. They know, and their faces will be on every glossy magazine, phone screen, and television for the next few weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other, the sickening, festering pang of regret fills his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s the one that he’s looking for. Zuko’s the one that he was holding out for, and he just kissed </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lee</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They may be the same person, they may share a soul, but they’re so different that it leaves Sokka a guilt-ridden mess on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Zuko,” Sokka whimpers. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry I couldn’t wait. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry that it wasn’t you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I used a Taylor Swift song. Are you proud of me, Zukka nation?</p><p>Anyway, yay! We finally have a kiss! But oof. Oof. Oof. Sokka, babe, what are you doing?</p><p>In case ur wondering what I imagine Sokka's outfit to look like, I got a lot of inspiration from <a href="https://twitter.com/and_starlight/status/1356310762717851653?s=20">this lovely picture (the second in the set)</a> by <a href="https://twitter.com/and_starlight">Ash &amp; Starlight</a> on Twitter!!</p><p>QotC: </p><p>1. Do you genuinely think Lee will remember? (Feel free to be honest--your answer won't change the end because I'm almost finished writing it lmao.)</p><p>2. Do you think Sokka will ever love Lee the way he loved Zuko? </p><p>3. What do you think the importance of the headpiece is? </p><p>Don't forget to follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka">Twitter</a>!</p><p>Until next weekend :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Shine A Bright Light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Kama shares concerns that she thinks that Sokka is suicidal.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next several days bleed together. Sokka can’t tell one from another because all he can do is lay there in his bed, stare out at where the sky meets the sea, and try to understand what runs around in his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t go to school, he doesn’t answer texts, and really, he can’t quite find himself to eat, either. Everything feels so wrong that he doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An additional stressor to this topsy-turvy turn in his life is his father, per usual; as he’s been glued to his bed, Hahn Sr.’s been doing what he can to try and make Sokka face him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It started with texts, and when Sokka ignored those, phone calls. When he must’ve realized that Sokka turned off his phone, he tried to send Kama up to him. His demands started proxy wars. Kama no longer bends at his will; she fights against him, and their voices raise with each argument they have. It’s not any different today. It started earlier in the morning, and while there’s been an interlude, Sokka’s expecting it to pick back up sometime soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he waits, he stares out at the sky before him. It’s gray and wispy—they look due for rain, but the clouds remain laden with it and haven’t spilled over onto Republic City yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he predicts the forecast in his head, he hears a loud slam; he’s used to it by now. He numbly turns towards his bedroom door and lays back on the bed, huffing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk, in some attempt to cheer him up, perches on his chest and rests his head on Sokka’s neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Sokka hears his mother say. Even though the Green House cost hundreds of millions of yuan to make, the walls are thin. “I told you that you are not going to talk to him about this!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s costing me my approval! That boy he’s canoodling with makes him a bigger laughing stock than he already is!” Hahn Sr. says, and the words slash through Sokka’s chest. He closes his eyes and a few tears slip down his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HOW?!” Kama yells. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>How</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Hahn? Sokka having a good time for once is affecting your approval rating? Newsflash! No president ever has had a perfect score!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He makes it go all over the place!” Hahn snaps. “And he kisses some random exchange student that we’ve only met a few weeks ago!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The most he’s moved your score is by, what, one point? I keep track of it! I do, and he never does anything so bad that he brings your approval rating below eighty percent. That’s an impressive score!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn says nothing. Sokka rolls onto his front and buries his face in his pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have nothing to say because I’m right!” Kama says after a moment of silence. “So tell me, why is our son really under your skin?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn mumbles something that sets Kama off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weird? </span>
  <em>
    <span>WEIRD</span>
  </em>
  <span>? HE’S. OUR. SON! Do you ever sit down and wonder why? Do you ever take the time to consider our son’s mental health, or are you too obsessed with how the public sees him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn, again, says nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what happened to him, either, but that doesn’t mean that you give up on him the minute that he gets ‘weird!’ You find resources to help and be there when you can! Not shove him aside! All I do is wonder—</span>
  <em>
    <span>look at me, you coward</span>
  </em>
  <span>—all I do is wonder what I can do to help, and when to step back, and when to intervene. I stay up at night, sometimes worrying that I'll wake up and not have him the next day because of people like you, and the press, and every other person that makes him feel peculiar. I get </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Sometimes, I get so scared I sit outside his door and make sure I don’t hear anything concerning happening beyond it. I make sure that the morning comes and my son is still </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kama….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked him what would help him a little over a month ago,” she says, and her voice sounds far away and thick. “He told me that divorcing you would be the best for him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kama, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the past month, I’ve been thinking it over and your disgust at his happiness was the final nail in the coffin.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” For once in his life, Hahn sounds desperate and a sickening sense of satisfaction creeps through Sokka’s veins. “We...we can talk about this—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s found someone that makes him happy and you bully him for it. I’m done being fucking complicit. I’m not your puppet, and I’m a monster for not doing this sooner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t going to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I. Don’t. Care.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Why do you think he ran away? Because he knew you were going to snuff out his happiness. He knew you were going to make him feel like shit for daring to be infatuated. After so long, I thought he was going to be happy again! And you….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka covers his ears with his hands, squeezing his eyes shut and praying for the fighting to stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s too much, </span>
  <em>
    <span>too much</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he needs to go. He rolls onto his back and looks up at the star-painted ceiling. His room is dark; the storm clouds are setting in. But he needs to go. Somewhere. Anywhere but here and the only place he thinks can offer peace is the Spirit World. He doesn’t have to go to Iroh, but he knows he will. He doesn’t have to listen to what he has to say, but at this point, who knows? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka just needs to get away, go away, before it gets any worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The escape plan is simple—run. If his parents see him, run. If they don’t, run anyway, because he needs something to distract him from everything that’s been romping through his mind: the fights, the guilt, the want of Lee, even if it makes him feel like he’s betraying Zuko….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he slides on a pair of shoes, he runs. He runs down the hall, and down the stairs, and through the back door right past where his parents are fighting. Sokka runs as the downpour drowns the ground and makes it slippery. He doesn’t stop running until he reaches the forest surrounding the Portal. Only then is it when he finally collapses from exhaustion and peers up at the leafy sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raindrops slip between the overhang and onto his face, and it feels good, even if it doesn’t ease the sting that fills his lungs with each breath he takes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment he can lay there. For a moment, all of his thoughts are left behind at the Green House. But as each breath gets easier to take, and the drizzle suddenly feels too cold, what originally set him off rounds about his mind again. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Happiness</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama thinks it was Hahn Sr. that robbed Sokka of that moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he certainly doesn’t make it easy, it’s not that. Things would be so much more manageable if it were—he could go back to Lee and start back where they left off. Dancing, kissing, admitting feelings. The things normal people who fall for each other do, even in the face of a defiant and rude father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Sokka’s case, he doesn’t know if he can even look at Lee without feeling completely guilt-ridden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee and Zuko share a soul, and the person he seeks is Zuko—that’s who he’s after. That’s who he needs to make remember. But there’s something about Lee that’s so comforting. The love he has for his family all of the time. The way he gets excited over things he loves, and the way he holds Sokka—touches him, cares for him, cherishes him. These are things Sokka’s grown to love about Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then there are the echoes, the traces of Zuko in him. His inherent obsession with the Southern Water Tribe, and the way he looks up to <em>Sokka</em>—not </span>
  <span>Sokka</span>
  <span>—as his favorite hero. He finds himself drawn to romance novels about </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and they came together like magnets—they were attracted to each other right away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee is Zuko, but Zuko is not Lee, and Sokka doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s so convinced that he’ll only be happy if Zuko remembers, but then again, he finds himself laughing with his counterpart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka lays there for a while, head whirring with confusion and conflict until a dragonfly bunny spirit flies into his line of vision and peers down at him. It emits a little squeak and flies out of Sokka’s sight until he cranes his head backward. It hovers there, waiting for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh must know that he’s out here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka sits up from the wet ground and stands seconds later. In no time, he is following the dragonfly bunny into the Spirit World and to Iroh’s digs. The table isn’t set out, but the little hut is filled with life. The windows glow with light and plumes of smoke huff and puff from the chimney. When Sokka walks in, he finds Iroh preparing not only tea, but a healthy portion of a meal for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad my little friend was able to find you,” Iroh says, placing the tea kettle on a table in front of the hearth. “Can you grab a couple cups?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka turns around and grabs Iroh’s favorite, and then his—it used to be Zuko’s—from a wrack over the door. Placing them on the table, he takes a seat and sighs. For a moment, Sokka stares at the cup between his hands. It’s been broken before but pieced back together; little gold cracks highlight the imperfections. Sokka’s always thought they looked like lightning bolts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like advice or affirmation?” Iroh asks, putting plates of dumplings and hotcakes on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka sits there for a minute, taking the chopsticks already on the table in his hands. As much as he hates the advice Iroh gave him, and as much as he knows he’ll probably hate the reiteration, he should at least tell him what’s going on in his head because there’s no one else he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zuko and I are getting along really well,” Sokka says, taking a dumpling between the chopsticks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean Lee?” Iroh says, placing a bowl of udon on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lee</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It still sounds weird for Iroh to say it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really well,” Sokka says with a sigh. He takes a bite of the dumpling and begins to chew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you two...share affections?” Iroh asks, finally taking a seat across from Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blushes at the mention, but the guilt weighs heavier. His eyes turn to the wooden tabletop the moment he swallows the dumpling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh chuckles. “I could tell—there was a shift in the Spirit World. But...you’re not happy. Was it bad?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was perfect. The way Zuko fed into him. The way Sokka pulled him closer. Sokka couldn’t have asked for anything more from his first kiss with Zuko….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s what I wanted, but not at all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How so?” Iroh asks, divvying up the tea between their cups. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It feels like I’m betraying Zuko,” Sokka says, setting his chopsticks down. “I wanted to wait until he remembered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh gives him a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what you’re going to say.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh places the pot on the trivet and folds his hands. “How about this?” he asks like he’s been sitting on this. “Who are you right now? If you didn’t remember everything, who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka picks at the grain in the wood, thinking about who he is, what he does. Why? But why would he do any of what he does if he hadn’t remembered? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Who was he </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span>?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m Hahn—I changed my name to Sokka—Marniq. I’m the First Son of the United Republic of Nations,” Sokka mutters. “I’m an only child to a good mom and a shitty dad. I study history and want to be the ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe to the Fire Nation. I love my pygmy dragon named Druk. I like to doodle in my free time, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m really good at it. That’s what I wanted to be when I was younger—an artist. I’m good at sports, too. But I mostly did that for fun. I didn’t have too many friends growing up, but now I have a friend named Lee.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka can practically feel the way Iroh’s smiling—it projects warmth onto him and he absorbs it, even if he won’t look at him. Sokka doesn’t quite know why Iroh’s having him do this, but he always seems to have his reasons, so he won’t try to question it too much yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, who is Lee?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka begins to pick at a cuticle as he thinks. “Lee Hong is a Hira’a native with two loving parents and two siblings. He’s always been interested in Southern Water Tribe culture and history. He loves food and nature. His feet get cold, so he always has to wear thick socks. Honestly, I find that kind of funny, considering that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> how to regulate his body temperature. He and his mom are the only firebenders in his family and he is </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> at it. He took off my eyebrow for a few weeks. He loves Druk and books and he smiles so much.” Sokka finally takes a breath and hardly notices the smile creeping up on his face, but then he catches a glimpse of Iroh grinning at him. He suddenly notices the way his cheeks feel tensed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you feel with Lee?” Iroh asks. “When you’re not thinking of Zuko.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes the cup of tea and peers into it. Some leaves sit at the bottom of the cup, and though it’s full, he still rolls his wrist and watches the hot tea slosh against the cracked sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s hard to separate them,” Sokka answers, goosebumps prickling his skin. “In my head, I know they’re the same people, but he’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka.” Iroh rests a hand on Sokka’s arm and gives it a squeeze. Sokka clenches his fist, not out of anger but in an attempt to distract himself from crying. It’s not working very well because his eyes sting. “You are no longer a warrior—you’re not an ambassador. You’re a young man that goes to college. Zuko is no longer a Fire Lord for the Fire Nation. He’s just the same as you—a college student trying to make sense of his life. You and Lee are no longer them. You are who you are now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tears pooling in his eyes spill over like a waterfall. Sokka bows his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you bear the burden of knowledge and want to lighten the load. I know your fighting spirit and you won’t stop trying, but the least you can do is allow yourself to Lee, too. Not just hold out for Zuko. They may be the same person, but in this life, you were Hahn and he is Lee first. Allow yourself the present.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel so guilty when I’m happy with Lee,” Sokka whimpers. He inhales shakily and lifts his chin, looking directly at Iroh. “Like I’m spitting in Zuko’s face or something. Lee is Zuko, but Zuko will never be Lee and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s your answer.” Iroh lifts his hand. “All you can do is be kind to yourself. Allow yourself that happiness and in time, good will come.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka doesn’t know if he believes that, but he has nothing left to say and what Iroh’s said leaves him exhausted. The two eat together in silence and after the plates are cleared and only dregs are left at the bottom of their cups, Sokka decides he should leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh hugs him before he can, and Sokka, so lost in everything that’s surrounding him, takes it. He hugs Iroh tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you’ve been in pain for far too long, but please listen to me. Live for the present, Sokka. Let Lee be your light.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka leaves the small hut with tears rolling down his cheeks. He wipes them away with a fist as he marches out of the Spirit World, but it’s no use. They keep coming. He hates that he cries so much, but when you’ve lived hundreds of years without your soulmate and now you’re being told to basically let go of everything you’ve had with them, you’re bound to cry a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At least the tears go away with the downpour</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks the moment he steps out from under the foliage. But his eyes still sting and the headache that comes with crying remains, even as he slogs along the slippery brick roads. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be a good time to go home. The neon lights flicker on as he passes by and the street lamps blossom with flames to guide the way before him. He doesn’t have Solan or Imula with him, and if he’s gone any longer, they’ll probably have a city-wide manhunt to find him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his feet take him the opposite way. His feet take him to that statue made of bronze, holding the eternal light of hope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much like the night of the anniversary, Zuko’s palm bears that flame, and much like that night, it’s raining hard. Unlike then, it doesn’t let up. Sokka takes a seat on the soaking wet bench and looks up at the hunk of metal like it has an answer for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I found you,” Sokka tells it. “I found you, and you are so different.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is he doing this? How is it helping him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then the Spirits told me to make you remember. They told me that we needed to hold onto the memories we had together. To save them. That’s what I’ve been doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But at the same time, I started falling for you again. The different you. You’re so happy now. And I love that. You’re happy and untouched and loved. And you have a love for others. Not a bitter bone in your body—no one to hate, or fear. I love that about the different you. But when I love those things, it makes me feel like I’m going against you...even if that’s just who you are now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes a moment. His throat hurts and it’s hard to get a word out with the way it swells. He pulls his knees to his chest and holds onto them before continuing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to be angry or sad or scared. And because of that, there are other things I see in you. Like...you’re such a fucking dweeb, now. You have geeky obsessions and you hate and love your job, and you probably don’t think I notice, but you look at me over books we’re supposed to be reading for our project. I feel your eyes. I love that. But...I’m afraid to betray you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I came here because I don’t know what I can do. I want to be happy. That’s all I want. Some Agni-damn peace and happiness, but how can I have that? I’m just so confused. And guilty. Because I don’t want to leave you behind and falling for Lee makes me feel like I’m doing that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I guess. I don’t know. Give me a sign. Tell me that I’m doing the right thing by letting Lee—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“SOKKA?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s eyes snap up at the bronze like it’s the statue talking, but after a moment, a rain-drenched figure slips through the haze and towards him. It’s Zuko’s human form, barreling at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first emotion he can decipher on Lee’s face is relief, and as soon as Lee’s close enough, Sokka’s scooped up into a pair of soft arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka,” he pants. “Oh, my Spirits. I knew I’d find you here, but...okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, Sokka stands there stiffly as Lee holds him, but then he remembers what Iroh said. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let Lee be your light.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka wraps his arms around Lee and buries his face in his neck, sobbing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand like this for a while. In the rain, drenched to the bone. But Lee allows it and Sokka needs him. So they stand there until the storm turns to a drizzle and the night fades to pitchblack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s the first to pull away. He lifts his head and meets eyes with Lee. They glow gold like Zuko’s. The thought makes Sokka’s stomach clench and he has to look away, even if it’s something he loves. “How’d you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Lee says, taking his hand. “I just...I thought and I was right. Your mom asked where you were and—we’re soaked.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka chortles, trying to wipe the tears out of his eyes. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two wordlessly slink over to the train station, and once they’ve wrung themselves out, they step inside. The air, thankfully, is warm. Or maybe it’s Lee’s hand that shoots the warmth up Sokka’s arm and through his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that they’re standing here in the light, Sokka takes a look at Lee. He's a little too pale and a little too chiseled in the face. Sokka doesn’t know what he would detest more—that it’s merely because he hasn’t been hungry or because he’s been trying to drop the weight. Either way, he loves Lee’s ampleness and he looks too thin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you hungry?” Sokka asks, glancing around to see if there are any chain restaurants to duck into. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee bites his lip and hesitantly nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka pulls him over to the only restaurant he can find. “Good. I’m buying you the whole menu. You look peaky.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bold of you to say,” he bites back, but Sokka ignores him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After paying at the till, the two settle at a secluded table near the back and out of sight of any potential paparazzi. This table’s in front of a window overlooking wildlands, and Sokka’s first instinct is to look out of it. The rain’s picked up again, so there’s nothing much to see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I call my mom?” Sokka asks, propping his chin atop his knuckles with one hand. The other sits on the table, palm up. He’s being blatant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Lee isn’t painfully oblivious. He doesn’t take it, but he begins to draw patterns into his palm. “Yeah. Let me just….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the other hand, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone only rings a couple of times before Kama picks up. “Lee? Did you find him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>frantic</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and another wave of guilt washes over him. It feels a little different from what he’s been experiencing, though. Almost more painful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Mom,” Sokka says, voice thick. “I just...I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My boy, my love. I don’t want you to apologize. I just want to make sure you’re safe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka glances at Lee for a split second then peers down at the particleboard table. “If I’m with Lee, I am.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The concentric circles Lee was drawing into his hand halt for a second. He only continues when he hears Kama’s voice on the other end of the line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When will you be home? Do I need to cook you anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. We’re eating now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama sighs. “Okay. Are you at Central Station? I’m sending the Warriors.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few more mother-son phone pleasantries, Sokka hangs up and pushes the phone over to Lee. He takes it and shoves it in his pocket at the same time their waiters bring tons of food to their table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they leave them, the two start to eat. Silently. Sokka’s still too in his head to talk much and Lee, thank the Spirits, is chowing down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s only some sense of communication at the end of the meal. Sokka’s peering outside again, blissfully thinking of nothing for once. But then, Lee asks, “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s more than one question there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did Sokka step back and disrupt the good they had in that moment? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why didn’t Sokka message him back?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why didn’t Sokka go to school?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did Sokka run away?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is Sokka acting like this? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why does he </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> act like this? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The possibilities are endless, really. But Sokka goes as abstract as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you believe in reincarnation?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question’s simple, and it answers every single scenario Sokka can think of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee looks confused, and for a moment, Sokka notices a hint of Zuko flash in his eyes. Sokka looks away again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Avatar does,” Lee answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, do you think we do, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee sits there for a minute and Sokka can hear him set his chopsticks down. “I suppose we do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods. And nods and nods and nods until it feels like he’s lost control of his neck and he’s crying again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee must be done because within seconds, he sweeps Sokka away and takes them into the bowels of the station where no one else would think of approaching them. He sits Sokka down on a bench pressed up to a white cinder brick wall and takes up the space next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? Hey, will you please look at me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka lifts his head. Lee, with a gentle hand, cups Sokka’s cheek and wipes away the tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s teary-eyed, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on in your head?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think my past lives are punishing me or something, or that I’m cursed.” Sokka laughs and wipes the tears off of the cheek Lee hasn’t claimed and sighs. “I don’t know. I’m just so depressed and confused and I’m lost. I probably just need therapy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s hand falls from Sokka’s face. Not a trace of judgement lingers in his expression, but something touches his eye and brow. Sadness. Confusion of his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s on your mind?” Sokka asks in turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eyebrows raising, Lee draws his chin back a little, then diverts his gaze. “A few things, actually.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to escape my mind, so feel free to divulge,” Sokka says, finally being able to sigh with a sense of relief. The storm’s just about over….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m mostly worried about you, honestly. But also...Agni, this doesn’t matter. Not right now, and with how you feel, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee only stops because Sokka plucks his hand from his lap and entwines their fingers. He tries to stifle his gasp, but the flush across his cheeks gives it away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me,” Sokka gently demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The kiss.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The very thing that’s made this mess. Not of Lee’s fault, but merely of his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about it?” Sokka asks, clenching his free hand at his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee finally looks at him again, and his brows meet in the middle, lips trembling. “I’m trying to figure out if you regret it or not. Or if you were drunk. I just...I. I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka almost doesn’t know what to say, but again, Iroh’s words wash over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let Lee be your light….</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Blocking Lee out is like blocking out the sun, Sokka’s realized. He’s so big and bright—even in a well-built fortress, he slips through the cracks. He’s so endless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn near impossible to block out….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re worried that’s why I’ve been ignoring you...it’s not that,” Sokka says. “I mean, it’s a part of it. But...not because I hated it or something. But I was depressed and my dad’s being a bitch, and—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t upset about that,” Lee says, squeezing his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just…” Sokka squeezes his eyes shut and prays that Zuko won’t hate him. “I don’t regret it. Not one bit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words give some sense of relief, even though a part of him feels like it’s cringing a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>But?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Lee asks the inevitable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I thought you’d be fully realized for our first kiss….</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Lee chortles and almost smiles at Sokka, but the expression he must be wearing makes any semblance of glee vanish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka doesn’t regret it. He doesn’t regret the happiness Lee can give him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have feelings for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But,” Lee says; his voice is almost a whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not ready to be with you. I want to be. Eventually, but....” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee nods. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. I’m not leaving.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka smiles, tears springing to his eyes. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The subject after that changes. Sokka turns it onto Lee. What’s he been doing? How’s the project? What does he need to catch up on? They talk about lighter things until their throats hurt and Sokka’s so tired, he can barely keep his eyes open. They talk until Lee tells him he needs to go home and get some sleep. The Kyoshi Warriors are already there—they just need to walk out of the station. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Sokka sleepily stumbles by his side towards the exit, Lee holds his hand, and when they reach the double doors, Sokka almost lets go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka turns back to him. “Hmm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I do to take your mind off of things?” Lee asks. He bites his bottom lip. “I like seeing you smile. I want some unadulterated smile time. What can I do to get that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka chortles at that, but honestly, what could?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Being in Republic City, for starters, dampens my mood and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about—wait, no.” Lee lets go of Sokka’s hand and tucks his under his armpits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you going to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee gnaws on his bottom lip until Sokka gives him a soft nudge. “Why don’t you come to Hira’a with me?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sokka listen to Iroh AND yourself 2021. </p><p>Anyway. </p><p>Hira'a. Hmm. What are y'all thinking right now?</p><p>QotC:<br/>1. What do you think Sokka's hold on Zuko will influence? Do you think it's a good idea that he's holding on, or is it fruitless?<br/>2. Sokka says that the Spirits told him to remember (in reference to chapter 5). Do you think that Sokka's interpreting it correctly, or is he biased due to what he's convinced himself over lifetimes?<br/>3. What could Iroh mean by letting Lee be his light?</p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! </p><p>Also, I'm almost finished writing the story and oh my god let me tell you how emotionally drained I am after writing 23-26. Whew, man. </p><p>Additionally, have some Solan and Imula drawn by the lovely <a href="https://autisticfirelord.tumblr.com/">Genesis</a>!</p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>Don't forget to follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka">Twitter</a>! See you in a week :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Roots</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hira’a.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s only been a few times throughout his lifetimes and it was only when he was still him and Lee was still Zuko. Any memory he has of it is fond. He went during the summers when the air was thick with humidity but the spirits were high and the fireflies were out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last time Sokka went was over two hundred years ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Lee offered, Sokka wanted to say yes right away. It’s the natural thing for him to do: say yes to him. Do anything at his will, all that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But under the circumstances he was in, he decided to sit on the idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer didn’t seem to faze Lee. All he said was, “Let me know if you ever want to. It’s a great place to get away.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since then, they hadn’t talked about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not when they started to get back in the groove of working together. Not when they would send each other late-night texts. Not when they would sit side by side in classes, nor when they would meet up with some reason or another to spend time together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was almost as if Lee completely forgot that he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little over a week went by like this. No mention of Hira’a despite Lee being a constant force in his life again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka didn’t know why. Didn’t he want him to come? Why wasn’t he trying to convince him to come? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This had Sokka worked up enough to visit Iroh one day. He wasn’t there for too long—just passing by on his way to get some dessert with Lee—but long enough to mention Hira’a. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is an avenue to get to know him further,” Iroh told him, “and an open invitation to get away. He simply hasn’t mentioned it because it’s just that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the next week passed, there were many things that made Sokka long for Hira’a more and more: stressful school work, a barking father, paparazzi trailing him anywhere he went. Sokka accepted the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> would have to be the person to bring it up, and with a three-day weekend in a few weeks, he knew he’d need to ask right away if they wanted time to plan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Sokka tried to bring it up the next three times they saw each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first time, Sokka shied out and changed the subject. He remembered what was at stake by visiting Hira’a. The two had mutual romantic feelings for each other and meeting parents? Going to his hometown together? What did that say to him or Lee? (In the pit of his stomach he felt some sense of shame.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka only realized it was stupid to shy out after he left that night. After all, Lee met his parents. He’s been to his hometown (albeit not together, but nonetheless.) And, realistically, it could still be considered platonic. They still haven’t figured out who they are to each other; they like each other, but they haven’t called it official and have no idea where they want to take a relationship. (Well, that’s Lee’s case. Sokka knows exactly what he wants from this, but baby steps with Lee and Zuko will come.) And, </span>
  <em>
    <span>those</span>
  </em>
  <span> thoughts reminded him: he could very well retrace steps he and Zuko took in the past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second time, Lee was sick so he wasn’t quite in the mood to have a call over the project while he was hunched over the toilet. (Sokka had sent some ginger tea via delivery service his way.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now. Right now, Sokka and Lee are in his room, spread out across his bed. Lee’s got papers scattered all over the place, looking a little frayed with the way his brow’s furrowed and his bottom lip’s between his teeth. (It’s a very Zuko-esque picture—it’s hard for Sokka to look at him for too long.) Druk’s on one of his thighs, nuzzling against it because he’s pretty good at picking up emotions, but Lee doesn’t notice. He’s frantically flipping through pages with one hand and pulling at his hair with the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka hates seeing him as stressed as he is. It reminds him of the days where he’d have to lure Zuko out of his official duties to have some fun. He guesses this is much the same, but the stakes aren’t nearly as high—Lee doesn’t have a nation to run. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either way, Sokka knows this is the right time to dip in. He tucks his highlighter behind his ear before placing a hand on Lee’s knee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head snaps up and the panic subsides. His eyes get soft; under Sokka’s touch, he can feel Lee loosen up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up?” Sokka asks him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee scoots over a little and leans against him, picking up a sheet and handing it over. “It’s not a huge deal because I need to get going soon anyway, but I left some research at the dorms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka looks down at the sheet; it’s a list of resources they needed. Lee likes to print out lists, but he still forgot one of the sources. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t pull it up on your laptop?” Sokka asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee shakes his head ruefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Sokka wraps his arm around Lee and his body reacts by melting into him. But then, he peers up at Sokka with a brow raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re cuddly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Sokka says. “Do you want me to let go of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee shakes his head and doubles down by pulling Sokka’s arm into his grasp and wrapping his around it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Sokka says, clearing his throat. “You seem stressed and I was thinking…” Sokka pulls a knee up to his chest and leans against it. He shakes his arm out of Lee’s grasp and takes hold of his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” Lee asks, brow raising. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have a three-day weekend in a couple of weeks and you mentioned going to Hira’a before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, Lee’s brow crinkles, but then it clicks. He cocks his head to the side a little. “You want to go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka can’t help the little smile twitching at the corner of his lip. “Yeah...I thought about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee rolls out of his arms and throws his laptop open. “We need to plan right now, then. We have to fly </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> take a ferry because we don’t have an airport and….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee stops for a moment and props his cheek on his knuckles. A crescent moon smile graces his face and Sokka wants to bask in its light. He starts leaning in to kiss that smile, but before he’s too close, he pulls Lee in and places a kiss atop his fluffy-haired head. He tilts his head upward and pats Sokka’s cheek in return before sitting back and typing rapidly into his keyboard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka just sits back and takes him in. Lee’s not doing all that much. Just hunched over the laptop, clacking against the keyboard, but he’s so cute when he does it. His golden eyes twinkle in the laptop light and a soft smile hangs from his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something Sokka cherishes about Lee is that he’s monumentally happier than Zuko and that much can be seen in literally every aspect of him. His eyes aren’t hardened by trauma, and the corners of his lips are naturally upturned. Sokka thinks it all of the time, but he’ll think it again—he’s so healthy. He’s well-fed and full and Sokka loves nuzzling up right next to him for that reason. And the kindness. The constant kindness. Zuko was kind, but not like this; Zuko always had to try and Lee is effortlessly sweet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of this discredits the pain Zuko went through, but it comforts him knowing that life’s treated him well now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end of the day, he guesses that all he can do is thank the Spirits that they’ve delivered Zuko to this better place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Earth to Sokka?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka blinks and finds that he’s staring right into Zuko’s eyes. He’s smiling a little and oh so close—he pulls away when he realizes </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> how close. Lee’s on his hands and knees, peering right at him with a smile that’s a little too cocksure for this to be accidental. Something rouses in Sokka’s groin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gulps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee falls back onto his ass and turns the computer around. “How does this look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Sokka wasn’t holding out for those memories, he would’ve shoved the computer aside and pulled Lee onto him. How dare he tease him like that when he knows how Sokka feels? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s on purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either way, it doesn’t matter. He’s supposed to be focusing on the screen, not what’s making the front of his sweats swell. He grabs a pillow and places it on his lap before leaning forward to get a better look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything looks good—times, dates. He notices that Lee booked economy, so Sokka changes that to first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be a doll and go grab my debit card?” Sokka asks, waving over to his desk. “My wallet’s in the top drawer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Lee says. “I was going to pay for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me treat you,” Sokka says with a smile. “Have you ever flown first class?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All Sokka can see is Zuko when there’s a fight in Lee. From the way his brow crinkles to the way his lip juts. Sokka just watches him with a nonchalant gaze as Zuko builds up a fluster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Lee groans. He throws himself off of the bed and across the room, grabbing his wallet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t even have to use my puppy dog eyes—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee pelts the wallet and it strikes Sokka’s chest with a stinging </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwack</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ow</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In no time, regret drips off of Lee’s face. He leaps back over to Sokka. “Oh, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s just about to touch Sokka’s chest where the leather wallet rebounded, but Sokka takes his hand and gives it a small squeeze before he can. “It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokk—oh, Lee!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The men turn to Kama. She’s standing there appearing slightly disgruntled, but delighted all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Mrs. Marniq,” Lee says, pulling his hand from Sokka’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She must notice because she says, “Don’t let me interrupt...that. But you will need to come down to dinner soon, Sokka.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka glances at Lee. “Are you in the mood for Southern Water Tribe Fire Nation fusion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...actually, we’re eating with guests tonight,” Kama adds. “You’ll need to get in your best.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka blanches. “Who are we eating with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Fire Nation Royal family,” Kama says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I should leave, then,” Lee says, frantically reaching for his things. Sokka takes one of his hands to stop him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we have a guest?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama’s face screws up with indecision. “I want to say yes, but….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t leave until you pay for the tickets,” Sokka says to Lee. He lets go of his hand and flips the wallet open upon grabbing it. He hands him a black card; Lee’s eyes grow wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tickets?” Kama asks, then shakes her head. “I’ll find out later. Okay. Yes. Soon, Sokka. Sorry I can’t say yes, Lee. I would, but….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay!” Lee says, grabbing for his computer the same time Sokka bounds for his closet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The minute Kama clicks the door closed, Lee says, “I love your mom.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka chuckles, pulling out a button-down and dress pants. He strips down without thinking about it. “She loves you. She always asks when you’ll be over and all that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Sokka stops. He wants to smile, but the stirring sense of guilt rips through him. His eyes turn to Zuko’s reflection and he sighs. Lee’s sitting there with a flush spread across his cheeks. Sokka stands, hating himself a little and he doesn’t know for what: Lee or Zuko’s sake? He only looks away when he straightens out his collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t wait until you meet my mom,” Lee says, dramatically smacking down on the laptop. “We’re officially booked! We leave after classes on Friday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can celebrate with dinner...tomorrow?” Sokka asks, buttoning his pants. “Pop open a bottle of wine? I don’t know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee, who is now shoving all of his things into his backpack, just chuckles. “Celebrate a vacation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That does sound kind of dumb….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Lee says, and Sokka takes a look at him. His eyes are shimmering like they do when he wants to say something extra sticky sweet. “I don’t care if we’re celebrating...something incredibly mundane? I don’t know, I’m not good with words, but I’ll celebrate anything with you if it makes you happy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka has to look away; he’s smiling so hard it makes his cheeks hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the two are ready, they walk to the back; on the way, Sokka tells the Kyoshi Warriors to come out with a Sato. They reach the backdoor in no time and Sokka and Lee stand across from each other, standing awkwardly and staring blankly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This always happens when they have to go. Sokka doesn’t want to kiss him goodbye because of the rule he set for himself and Lee is a little nervous about going too far. Usually. Tonight, he’s been a little outlandish. So, it’s funny to see him kind of stand there like that, nervous all over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always have permission to hug me,” Sokka tells him now with a chuckle. “You don’t have to ask—oof!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee pulls him in his arms. When he’s especially soft, his hugs are like a deathtrap. It’s great until Sokka needs to try and breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re killing me,” Sokka wheezes, and Lee lets up enough to where Sokka can wrap his arms around Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka opens the door open for Lee and he turns back to give him a look. “I can walk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Sokka says. “Precious cargo. Let me know when you get home, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee flushes and stands on his tiptoes to give Sokka a kiss on the cheek. He closes the door on Sokka before he can process that, and leaves him standing there, rubbing his cheek with a sloppy smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stands there for a while, half love drunk, half confused. Or, the usual state he’s in after spending any time with Lee. It’s something he’s getting used to, but he can’t wait for the day where Lee remembers so Sokka no longer has to feel conflicted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka jumps hard; it’s a voice he doesn’t recognize—it’s gruff and soft at the same time, and he has a slight lilt. He veers around, too ready to attack whoever is standing there, only to find the crown prince, Somi, standing across from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s probably Sokka’s age, just a tad bit taller than him, and has very similar eyes to Zuko’s. (They’re family and all, so it’s not all that surprising. Regardless, it’s interesting to see how the eyes are so damn distinctive in his bloodline.) They hold a minute bit of curiosity, but the smugness on his mug tells him everything that Sokka needs to know. He saw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he a subject of mine?” Somi asks. He steps up closer to Sokka before bowing—Sokka does so in return before answering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. We’re working on a project together.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi gives him a once-over, and smirks. “Mhm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka can feel his cheeks burn, but then Somi’s cool hand rests on his shoulder. This shocks him—it’s weird for a firebender's hands to be cold...unless he isn’t one. Not that he’ll ask, but. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pulling your leg, but I was sent to get you,” Somi says with a smile. It’s warm and genuine, so Sokka feels much more comfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi’s hand falls to his side and the men walk together to the formal dining room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first few seconds are quiet; neither man feels the need to talk as they walk to meet up with their parents. But as they get closer, Somi says, “I’m Somi, by the way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka comes to a full stop, only because he’s surprised. Somi takes a few more steps before he notices that Sokka’s fallen out of step with him. He turns to him, his cloak swishing in his wake. The Fire Lord-in-training goes from cocky to just shy of uncertain. His brow wavers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just introduced myself,” Somi says, shrugging his shoulders forward slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka chortles, crossing his arms. “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something about that gaze of his that’s so similar to Zuko’s and it’s annoying to be reminded that the guy in front of him is the offspring of the offspring of the offspring of the offspring of Zuko’s offspring (or something like that). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nevermind that,” Somi says a little gruffly. He takes Sokka’s wrist and drags him down the hallway. “We’re going to get in trouble if we don’t hurry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so you’re not up for trouble,” Sokka mumbles as he stares down each byway they pass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not like you,” Somi says, not quite dismissive, but Sokka knows what he’s surely thinking nonetheless. “I don’t have the time to be anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anymore?” Sokka asks, curious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi stops this time and Sokka nearly body slams the back of him. He only turns enough to see that his lip curls. “Anymore. Though, I wouldn’t mind getting into some trouble with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...uh—I’m kind of seeing someone. Kind of,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi turns around fully and gives Sokka another once over, that smirk on full display now. “I know. I’m only fulfilling my duties.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Sokka’s confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi goes back to dragging him down the hall again and while he does, Sokka starts a game of twenty questions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duties?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your dad asked me to flirt with you a little.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I mean, it’s not hard to flirt with someone that looks like you,” Somi says, his voice going a little too sultry for Sokka’s liking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Sokka asks again, but they come to the double doors of the dining room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want to get into trouble sometime, let me know,” Somi says with a wink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he pushes the door open, he rolls back his shoulders and the mask of the crown prince slips onto his features. It’s interesting to see the switch, but it’s not surprising. There’s two sides to every person and he just has to wear the mask more often than not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka doesn’t feel like he has to wear the mask as often, so he crosses his arms over his chest as Somi throws the doors open. (Boy, does he have that dramatic flare that his how-many-times great grandfather had.) The adults in the room turn to face them and Sokka’s eyes immediately fall on his father—he peers at him with too-big eyes and his brows are too high on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something’s up and Sokka can feel it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They take their assigned seats across from each other and in the middle of their parents. As soon as they do, the chefs pour out of some side doors with trays upon trays of food. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The adults marvel at the sights and smells of the fusion food of their two nations, but the younger of the bunch don’t find too much interest in that. They catch glances between the arms of the servers, and in those golden eyes, Sokka finds something that he can’t quite put into words. He doesn’t know what to call it, but before Sokka can even attempt to have some sense of a silent conversation with Somi, the servers are gone and the parents try to sweep them into conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so glad you finally met Somi,” the current Fire Lord says with a smile on her face. “I know you two boys have always wandered in the same circles, but I don’t think you two have ever spoken before.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka and Somi peer at each other over the table and shrug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe a word or two,” Somi says, grabbing his goblet of wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My Hahn usually keeps to himself,” Hahn Sr. says, slapping a congenial hand on Sokka’s shoulder. He flinches a little at the impact; then, he realizes that the room’s gone quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All three of the Fire Nation family stare at Hahn Sr. like there’s something on his face; Sokka takes a glance at his mother as well and notices that she, too, is tense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were all under the impression that you changed your name,” Somi says for his parents. “You know, to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi’s parents still gaze at Hahn Sr., but they continue their conversation nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For most of the dinner, Sokka’s tuned out, eating the komodo chicken stewed prunes. (When Sokka first heard of that fusion, he wasn’t too sure, but then he remembered that it had meat and anything with meat tastes good.) Every once in a while, he’ll look up from his food to find Somi staring at him, curiosity lingering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s only snapped back to reality when he hears his father say his name strung along with the words “international summit” and “the next couple of weeks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Sokka asks, lifting his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you were paying attention, you would’ve heard that I was talking about the Leadership Summit held for future international leaders. I would like you to go. Prince Somi will be going.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka glances at him and notices that Somi cocks his head ever so slightly, a slight crease forming between the brow. Sokka doesn’t know what to make of that; he asks his father, “When?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the next couple of weeks—on that three-day weekend of yours, actually.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka prickles. “I can’t do that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn drops his spoon and it clatters against the porcelain plate. The noise is enough to make everyone jump, and in the corner of his eye, Sokka can see Kama barely holding it together for the Fire Nation. Her fists are clenched and placed on the table for all to see, but she’s trying to smile nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Hahn asks, trying to hide the edge in his voice. Everyone can hear it, though. Sokka can tell by how tense the air is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need a vacation. My friend and I are going out of town that weekend,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Somi says and Sokka’s attention snaps to him. Again, he cocks his head and gives Sokka the look and it’s finally something he understands. He gives Somi a small nod and that smirk tweaks at the corner of his lip. “You’re talking about that guy I saw, aren’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep,” Sokka says, leaning against the table. “We’re taking a vacation to Hira’a, actually. That’s where his family’s from.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi gasps, flourishing the action with a hand held up to his mouth. “Hira’a! I have family from there. His last name’s Hong, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know?” Sokka asks, head cocked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I read headlines.” Somi leans up on the table, grinning. “What’s his first name again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee.” A smile curls onto his lips at the utterance of his name. “But yeah, we’re—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Son,” Hahn says, resting his hand on Sokka’s shoulder. Again, he jumps. “I’m sure that the vacation can wait. You’re the son of—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Son</span>
  </em>
  <span> of, Father,” Sokka says. “I’m not a diplomat, nor am I interested in being a leader. I want to do the behind-the-scenes stuff. I don’t want to go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee Hong?” the Fire Lord asks before Hahn can edge a word in, creating a beautiful distraction. <em>Bless her</em>, Sokka thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, ma’am,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know his parents’ names?” she asks, now interested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sho and Ji-Yeong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A spark flashes in the Fire Lord’s eyes, then, a twist of pain puts out the flame. She bows her head and continues to eat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about her reaction makes Sokka curious. Do the families know each other...?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From there, Hahn steals back the conversation without mention of the summit. He’s either conceding or waiting to lose his temper away from the Fire Nation’s presence because, of course, he needs to keep appearances. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation he has with the family carries on outside of dinner, so Hahn, Kama, the Fire Lord, and her wife move it to a formal sitting room. Somi almost follows them, but Sokka catches him by the elbow before he can walk down the hall with the others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you doing?” Somi asks. “Shouldn’t we go with them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And do what? Talk about wine and politics?” Sokka asks. “Let your hair down. Let’s go to the back and relax.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi gives the elder adults one more look before following Sokka to the back of the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit down,” Sokka tells Somi as soon as they approach the kitchen. He opens the fridge and peers in. “Want anything to drink?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m okay,” Somi says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka fishes out a soda and closes the door before turning to Somi who has </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span> taken his hair down. It’s long and thick and silky, naturally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spirits, he and Lee look a lot alike. Are they...related? Is that how they know each other? There’s no way in the cosmic fuck that that’s possible. Unless it is. Nevertheless, it would kind of make sense. Lee and Somi have the same eyes, or that’s what he convinces himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for doing...that, by the way,” Sokka says. “You and your mom….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi waves his hand. “Your dad seems unbearable. Honestly, he doesn’t have a very good rep in the Fire Nation, so I think he’s trying to send you to the summit to fix it yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, it’s probably my fault that they’re talking about him—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one thinks that,” Somi says. “They think that President Marniq isn’t helping you enough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stares back blankly. “I don’t need help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi raises a brow. “Why do you leave cakes for Fire Lord Zuko?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka diverts his gaze to the ground. “Personal reasons.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, either way,” Somi says, “the Nation doesn’t think he cares too much for his son and if you don’t treat your family kindly, how are you supposed to run the Nations well, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka never thought of that, or how the outside world saw Hahn’s treatment of Sokka. Sokka knew he was a shitty father, but the world thinks the same? Even while keeping up appearances? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think he runs the Nations too badly,” Sokka mumbles. He rounds the counter and sits next to Somi. “Not politically, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you have to wonder where his heart is when he governs.” Somi takes the can from Sokka’s hand and takes a drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Sokka snatches the drink back, glaring at the prince. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> said you didn’t want any.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi smirks and it’s nearly identical to Lee’s. It’s a mindfuck, really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Question,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Answer,” Somi replies, trying to take the can again but Sokka slaps his hand away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know Lee?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi shifts in his chair, head hanging while he sits there. “I don’t...quite know him other than what I know about him from tabloids.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they really become friends, Sokka’s going to need to roast him for reading garbage. But that wasn't the answer he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is...is he possibly related?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...don’t really know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi gives up feigned cautiousness and shrugs. “We don’t talk to that side of the family. I know we have family, but Mom never said who exactly. She has a big heart and all, so I know she’s tried to reach out. Family rifts are...sticky, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah….” Sokka takes a sip of his drink and sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, Somi changes the subject. They talk about a lot of things. What they are studying, their plans after college, Somi’s plans when he inherits the throne (that, he seems unsure of and almost hesitant to answer, but Sokka doesn’t press on it). They go back and forth until Somi gets a text and has to turn in for the night. But before he slips away, they exchange numbers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s almost like clockwork. As soon as Somi’s out of sight, Hahn pounces on Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right away, Sokka stands. “I’m not going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hear me out,” Hahn says, traces of desperation in his voice. Not only that, but Sokka can’t pick up on any anger on his face. Rather, exhaustion. A man at the end of his rope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka sighs. He stands there, defensive, but….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will hear you out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn sits on one of the chairs and waves his hand at the one next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka keeps a chair between them, but sits down nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than anything, I want you to go on this trip to make friends—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have friends,” Sokka replies. “Lee, Somi, now—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka does. Affluent friends. Leaders. The thought makes Sokka tense up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why does it matter so—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t done—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither am I!” Sokka stands up. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why. Does. It. Matter</span>
  </em>
  <span>?! I didn’t ask to be affluent or the president’s son. I want normal friends, too. Let me have that. And what was that—coercing Somi to flirt with me? What did you expect to happen? For me to fall in love and follow him to the Fire Nation for that summit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vein on Hahn’s temple begins to protrude, his face slowly becoming the shade of wet terracotta. “I want you to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn snaps up this time and glares across at Sokka, who now feels like there’s magma working through his veins. He’s sure he’s just as red in the face, his hands clenched at his sides, always ready for a fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no longer optional,” Hahn snaps. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> going!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> not!” Sokka says. “You cannot make me—a full-grown adult—go to a stupid ass summit for people who want to become world leaders!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> make you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and what army?” Sokka snaps. “Mom’s not on your side anymore. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This does it. Hahn looks like a TNT stick and is just as ready to explode. Seems that Sokka dug his finger into an open wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>OUT</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Hahn bellows. “You are not allowed back!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’ll the press think?” Sokka croons, despite the fact that he’s shaking just slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn’s narrowed eyes twitch. “I don’t want you in my sight, so you better be careful in this house, Hahn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just about to leave anyway!” Sokka says. “I have to celebrate going on vacation with my friend!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stomps to the backdoor, the anger getting all the worse the farther he walks away. He feels explosive. Now would be an awful good time to throw a boomerang at something, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Sokka looks back at Hahn, pure hatred pulsing through him as he steps out of the backdoor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Kyoshi Warriors are already standing there, looking a lot more worried than usual. Imula’s jaw is loose and slightly open and Solan’s eyes glisten with anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck?” Imula says, rushing over to Sokka. She hugs him and he stands there, wanting to punch something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please get off,” Sokka says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She does so, but doesn’t stray too far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your father—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care. I just...take me to Lee, please,” Sokka says, tromping up to the Sato. He climbs in and slams the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ladies slide in as well and take off without any further comments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drive him far, far away, and on this journey through the night, Sokka checks his phone. He has a few texts—one from his mother, one from Somi, and one from Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He checks Lee’s first. It’s a photo of Druk tucked in Lee’s backpack with the words, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone stowed away! Want me to come back? </span>
  </em>
  <span>underneath the picture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, his mother’s: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll talk Hahn down. Go some place you feel safe with the Warriors. I’ll let you know when it’s calm. I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And finally, Somi’s: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do we need to take you into a protection program? I think the whole Green House heard that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s hand falls limply at his side, phone still in his grasp. Everyone seems so scared, but Sokka...Sokka feels like this was another day. He’s angry, sure, but was it </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as they pull onto the street Lee’s dorms are on, Sokka asks the Warriors, “Are you scared for my safety?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula glances into the rearview mirror. “I don’t think the Prez would hurt you...but that was frightening to hear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka bows his head. “It didn’t scare me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You probably have, like, ten million forms of trauma from that man,” Imula says with a sigh. “Anyway, we’re here. Hopefully Wonder Boy helps smooth out your edges.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Sokka asks, but then he looks down at his hands. They’re balled in fists and trembling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka climbs out of the Sato and wanders to the front doors of the dorms, but when he pulls on the handle, they’re locked. As they should be, of course, but it makes Sokka want to kick the door. (He doesn’t because he knows that he’d probably break the glass.) Instead, he calls Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks up after a few rings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! I have Druk. I don’t know if you got my message, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m downstairs. Can you open the door?” Sokka asks, voice now trembling as well. It’s like his body’s reacting, but his mind is terribly calm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah—hey. Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want to celebrate our vacation. Can we do that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be down there, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka hangs up and leans against a pillar near the front door. He’s trembling, but he doesn’t know why. Why? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sokka’s not scared. Hahn doesn’t scare him—almost nothing does, but why is he shaking like this? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Within what feels like seconds, Lee’s downstairs and he runs up to Sokka. He stands on his tiptoes to get a look at him. He, too, wears a look of fear, but it rolls back just slightly and he places a hand on his face. His touch is warm and cool at the same time. It’s calming, and influences Sokka to scoop Lee into a hug. Sokka buries his nose in his hair and sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” Lee asks. “Are you okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad and I got into a fight because he wants me to go to this stupid summit for young international leaders and it’s the same weekend we’re getting away and then he tried to kick me out of the Green House and then—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey.” Lee pulls away from the tight grasp Sokka’s got on him and places a hand on either cheek. “Breathe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka does. In, out. He closes his eyes and feels his feet on the concrete. A soft wind rustles through the street and it carries notes of Lee’s shampoo into the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we need to cancel the trip?” Lee asks. “Would that be safer for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shakes his head. “I need to go to Hira’a. I need a fucking break. We’ll just...leave earlier, I guess. We’ll pack our bags and leave early in the morning. I don’t...</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lee. I can’t take that man anymore!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s hands travel down Sokka’s face, trail down to his shoulders, and find their way to his hands. He takes them and gives a soft squeeze. “We’ll leave early, then. We can change the flight. Whatever makes you most comfortable, if this is what you need.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods slightly and sighs. His hands aren’t trembling anymore and under Lee’s touch, he feels much calmer. “Okay. Anyway, let’s celebrate. How do you feel about ice cream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that, Sokka’s done talking about it. There’s an ice cream store on campus for them to go to, and as they trail towards it, the Warriors tow behind slowly in the Sato. Sokka, though still a bit in shock, </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he’s over the entire situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee, on the other hand, is brewing an angry aura. Sokka only realizes how intense it is until juts of fire shoot from his hands and to the ground below them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka jumps back with a little squeal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate your father,” Zuko says. His eyes turn to Sokka with a piercing stare. It’s dangerous. “I know I can’t do anything to help you in this situation, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee then walks a little faster, one hand balled at his side, the other chafing his left eye.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The two get ice cream to celebrate their vacation and talk about everything but Sokka’s father after they book tickets for an early morning flight: what they want to do, where they want to go. Those sorts of things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they stumble back to the dorm room, walking under the moonlight, Lee asks him, “Other than your dad, how was everything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sokka catches Lee’s gaze, it almost makes him come to a stop. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lee and Somi look so much alike now that I’m really thinking about it...</span>
  </em>
  <span> Curiosity gets the best of him and before he can stop himself, he asks, “Are you related to Fire Nation Royalty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee almost trips over his feet, but Sokka catches him before he can. That in itself is an answer, but the penetrating glare that Sokka’s rarely pinned with is definitive proof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds his hands up in defense. “Somi mentioned having family in Hira’a when I brought you and our plans up, and you two look a lot alike....” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee nods curtly and starts to walk by his side again. “Yeah. Related, but ties are severed, so I’m not royalty or anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your relative—Prince Somi’s interesting,” Sokka says, stumbling at his side. While he didn’t mean to, he feels like he pushed a button. Lee’s not looking at him. “I didn’t—sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything. I just...you and Somi look a lot alike and...yeah. Word vomit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee takes Sokka’s hand. “Don’t mention anything in Hira’a. My mom doesn’t know I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Sokka drops it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the walk home is wordless. Whatever makes Lee so prickly seems to dissolve in the cool autumn air and by the time they’re back at the dorms, Lee’s leaned into him. Sokka takes it, his arm wrapped around him to keep him warm (even though </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the firebender). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s invited up into his room, but they have to whisper because Lee’s roommate is asleep. They talk about everything and nothing until Sokka gets the OK to go home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That early morning, Sokka starts to pack—going to Hira’a under Hahn’s nose may be risky, but it’s needed, even if that means more yelling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing will stop him.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Inchresting. </p><p>So, Lee's related to royalty? Huh. </p><p>Also, I'm sorry that I didn't update yesterday! It was my sister's birthday, so that was more important lol. Anyway. </p><p>QotC: </p><p>1. What do you think Somi's role in this story is?<br/>2. What do you think the Hira'a getaway will entail?</p><p>Also, we've reached 300 kudos! That means so much to me y'all :') Because of this, I want to do something. </p><p>I'm so not done with Lee and Sokka after this story and while I have one-shots that I know I'm going to write, I wonder what kind of one-shots y'all would want to see. </p><p>For each 100 votes, I'll write a one-shot one of y'all request! (You don't have to give recommendations now just because there is so much to cover still, but to get your ideas flowing I wanted to let y'all know.) </p><p>Thank you so much again!!</p><p>Don't forget to follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka">Twitter</a>! </p><p>Until next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Lightning In A Bottle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The night before the trip, Sokka sits in front of two open suitcases, both already fully packed. He needs to whittle it down to one; the only way he can sneak away successfully in the middle of the night is if he packs light, and even then, one of these suitcases isn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>light</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s supposed to be video calling him to help out with this dilemma—help him figure out what to bring and what not to—but just before he can ring him up, there’s a light knock on the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s heart leaps in his chest, eyes frantically scanning over the scene before him. There’s no way he can hide any of this, and just before he can attempt to shove things under his bed, Kama nudges the door open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The likeliness of it being Hahn was astronomically low, but Sokka sighs in relief at the sight of her. She walks in and shuts the door behind her before gazing at the mess Sokka’s left on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” she asks, sauntering over. She doesn’t look the least bit surprised. She takes a seat across from him and starts to pull out some of the clothes that are in his “to take” suitcase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m taking that one,” Sokka says, reaching out for the shirt. She yanks it out of his grasp and folds it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me fold your clothes. You’re horrendous at it.” A sly smile sneaks onto Kama’s face as she sets the folded shirt on the ground and takes out another one to fold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not that bad,” Sokka whines, trying to take the shirt back. Kama, again, dodges him and folds the shirt. “At least show me how so I don’t have to always rely on you to help me fold my clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You rarely rely on me for anything, my love. Let me help you.” Kama sets the shirt on top of the last one she folded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t feel right just sitting back to let her do this, but he knows she won’t have it any other way. So, he lets her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hira’a, huh?” she says as she continues on with her task. If she sees something that Sokka might not need, she folds it and sets it on the other side of her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Sokka draws concentric circles into the shag carpet they’re sitting atop of. “The Warriors are dropping me off at the airport.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama nods, eyes too focused on the contents of the suitcase to look at him. “Are they going with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka huffs, pulling his knees to his chest. “I want to be normal for a few days. I asked them to stay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama stops folding for a moment, hands frozen as well as the fabric between them. “You know how I feel about you being left alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My death would probably raise Father’s approval rating; if an assassin really wanted to get under his skin, they’d find a different way to do so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shrugs like it’s nothing; Kama, on the other hand, sits there with her jaw unhinged. “Sokka!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raises his hands in defense. “I’m speaking the truth. What I’m trying to say is that you don’t need to worry about me. I’m safe in the Fire Nation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Kama wears that look of disgruntlement, Sokka sees a lot of himself in her. They can be near identical sometimes: from the brow to the pout of the lip. He sees a lot of her in </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like it when you talk like that,” she tells him, setting another bit of clothing aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Sokka says, leaning forward. “But it’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not fond of your father, either, but he would not want you dead, even if it raises his approval rating,” Kama snaps. It’s the first time she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> raised her voice at him. Her hand falls to her open mouth and guilt quickly finds its way to her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Sokka takes her hand. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. I was pushing your buttons.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama closes her eyes, inhales, exhales, and continues with the folding. “I won’t raise my voice at you again. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologize,” Sokka says, wrapping his arms back around his legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next couple of minutes are quiet. Sokka watches her wordlessly, and when she’s done with the first suitcase—which is half as full as it started—she goes on to the second one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you plan on doing there?” Kama stacks some jean shorts on the “to take” side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee wanted to take me to see a play there. They have a theatre in the middle of town. They’re known for their fine arts. From there, I think we’ll just walk around and meet with his family.” Talking about it brings an inexplicable smile to Sokka’s face; he tries to suppress it, but his mother must catch it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you...are the two of you dating?” Kama sets the last of what he needs to bring to one side and starts sticking it all in the smallest suitcase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka helps her, mostly because he wants to help, but also because he doesn’t want to answer the question….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to pressure you into—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m in love with him.” The words spill out before Sokka can stop himself and the two stare at each other with wide eyes. Sokka’s cheeks sting from the heat. Then, guilt washes over him. Sokka’s not in love with Lee. He’s in love with Zuko. “He’s my soulmate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m happy you’re happy, but are you sure—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” That much Sokka can say about Zuko, at the least. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m talking about Zuko right now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks. “I know it seems...early. But I’m 100% sure about how I feel about him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shock starts to wash away from Kama. The wide eyes go soft and she wears a gentle smile. As she scoops up the clothes Sokka won’t bring, she says, “If that’s the case, I want you to be there the whole time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama crosses the room to put the extra clothes in his drawers. “You...get in your head, or hide behind a book a lot of the time.” She closes the drawer and leans against it, peering back at Sokka with that </span>
  <em>
    <span>mom look</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Spend time with him. Be in the moment. Enjoy every second, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rolls his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously. Don’t take books and hide out in his room.” Kama paces back to him and crouches down, placing a kiss on his temple. “Also, let me grab something that you can give his parents as thanks. When do you take off?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m leaving in an hour,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama blanches, but stands up right away. “Why so early?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bypass You-Know-Who,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama nods. “Ah. Then, let me go now. I’ll take this for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After grabbing the empty suitcase, Kama makes her way out of the room and closes the door behind her. He can’t hear the wheels of the suitcase, so he guesses that she’s carrying it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, just in case Hahn’s listening. (Sometimes, it feels like he’s everywhere.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as soon as her footsteps vanish, Sokka’s phone begins to buzz. He looks down at the screen and finds a picture of Lee staring back at him. He took it a couple of weeks ago and it’s the cutest thing. Lee’s all crinkle-eyed and smiles. Sokka popped in while he was working, so naturally, he was a little flattered to see him there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s smile is contagious. Even now, he smiles back at the picture before answering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Sokka says. “All packed. Are the Warriors there yet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Didn’t need my help?” Lee says. The screen before Sokka is dark, but it doesn’t look like Lee’s in a room. Either the moon or a street light shines behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you outside?” Sokka asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Answer my question first,” Lee says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked the first question, actually,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, they’re not here yet. Now, you didn’t need my help?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rolls his eyes, but his smile turns into a grin. “Mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee nods. “So, she knows.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She deserves to. I’m sure she’d know where I went, but still.” Sokka sighs, peering at the closed door. Would he have told her if she hadn’t come in? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good. Also, yes, I’m outside.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee! It’s cold out there!” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two continue talking about whatever pops up in their heads until the Warriors pick him up. Just as Lee’s about to go, he peers down at his screen and smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes a screenshot of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d tell you to let me know when you get here, but.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee chuckles. “See you soon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama comes into the room just as Sokka hangs up. She holds a bottle of plum wine; her eyes wander around the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka zips his suitcase and stands up. The Warriors will be here relatively soon, so he needs to do one more sweep around before he leaves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s your carry on?” Kama asks, still holding the bottle. “You’ll need to put this in a carry on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank Agni Sokka hadn’t packed it yet. He grabs his backpack and empties out most of its contents, keeping anything he might need for their project. Kama hands the bottle over to him and after stuffing it into his bag, he turns to her. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama gives her </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> smile before sitting on the edge of the bed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Be careful</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will be.” Sokka bends down and gives her a kiss on the head. “I’m going to finish packing now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Make sure you have your toothbrush and some socks and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got it.” Sokka rests a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “It’ll be fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama slips out of the room wordlessly; Sokka sets out to pack whatever else he needs: history books on Hira’a, light reading on the Fire Nation after the war. As he shoves these into his backpack he catches a glance of a book on his nightstand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It glares back at him, begging him to take it. It’s the romance novel about Sokka and Zuko’s last night together; Lee had it, so he lent it to Sokka. He’s incredibly curious, but he’s also very sure that it’s dead wrong. (“It’s historical </span>
  <em>
    <span>fiction</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Lee had told him. “You can’t expect it to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Sokka stands there, deciding if he should take it or not, Druk lands on his shoulder and chirps. Sokka instinctively gives him a scratch on the head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To bring it or not to bring it, that is the question,” Sokka mumbles, holding the book up. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk flitters off of his shoulder and lands softly on the book. He shoves his tiny face into Sokka’s and chirps again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His inky black eyes stare blankly back at Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, I’ll take it.” Sokka scoops Druk off of the book and tucks it in his backpack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sets the pygmy down to close the backpack, but as he tries to do so, Druk zooms into the compartment and burrows himself between the books and bottle of wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka sighs. “Listen, buddy. I’d love to take you, but you don’t have food there, and it’s not nice to bring guests who weren’t invited.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk’s eyes begin to pool, wide and black. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t be able to go on the plane, bud. And you wouldn’t know where to fly. You’d lose your way.” Sokka takes the dragon into his palm and gives him a kiss on top of his head. “It’ll only be a few days. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk’s eyes divert away from Sokka and he hops off of his palm, flapping back to his little home. He burrows in a corner out of Sokka’s vision and huffs out a small plume of fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka chuckles, but his lips quickly turn to a small pout. He wishes he could bring Druk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After packing the rest of his bag and making sure he has the essentials—passport, toothbrush, hair ties—Sokka begins to migrate his items downstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka can almost imagine each step being accentuated with the tinkling of imaginary bells tied around his ankles. Realistically, he knows he’s not making any noise, but the wood groans under each step he takes, and to him, it echoes off of the cavernous hallway walls. At least Sokka’s room is in its own wing, but still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It probably takes Sokka a good five minutes to walk down the corridor, and just as he turns onto the landing, he’s scared nearly half to death by his mother—he almost drops everything and emits a quiet squeal that’s still too loud for his liking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kama stands there, holding an oil lamp in one hand, the other tucked under her robed pit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You scared me,” he whisper-yells, frowning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” she says, grazing her knuckles against his cheek; she sighs. “Be careful. Call me when you get to the airport, then when you land, then when you get to his house. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.” Kama steps up on the landing and he tilts his head down. She rests her forehead against Sokka’s. As soon as their noses touch, he inhales. She always smells like mountain aven and blueberries; it’s something that’s always comforted him, even now. After a few seconds, she rests her hand on the side of his neck and gives him a kiss right between the eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as she steps away, Sokka’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees a text from Lee: </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re here!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka smiles, replying with a, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll be right out :)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember to call me, Sokka,” Kama says as the two tiptoe to the backdoor. “And don’t answer any calls or texts from your father. I’ll take care of it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All Sokka can think is, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank the Spirits for my mom.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka slips silently through the backdoor and comes face to face with the black Sato that Lee sits in. As much as he wants to barrel towards the Sato, he knows that he still needs to be as quiet as he can be until they’re outside the Green House walls. He walks, shoulders hunched forward, to the trunk, loads his things, and makes his way into the backseat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Lee says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka turns to him; he can just see the contours of his body in the moonlight, but those golden eyes shine bright, even without the illumination. They burn like the fire he can conjure. Sokka can tell that he’s smiling, just by the lines around his eyes, and in response, he smiles back and rests a hand in the empty space between them, leaning onto it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for letting us go so early,” Sokka says. “I know we probably don’t need to, but...thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s fingers brush against his; Sokka’s heart flutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I?” Lee whispers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods. Lee must be able to see him in the dark because he pulls Sokka’s hand into his and laces their fingers. The feeling sends a thrill through Sokka, but there’s a wall of guilt around his heart. The minute the excitement reaches his chest, it falls dead. But Sokka holds his hand regardless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just excited to go with you,” Lee admits. “Also...I was wondering. What are we telling my parents? This is...we’re just friends, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question hits Sokka and leaves a sting in its wake. That was the plan—that </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> the plan, but the question’s so much more than Lee just asking what they’re going to tell his parents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why here? Why now, in front of the Warriors? (They already know, so it shouldn’t be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span> deal, but to Sokka, it kind of is.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take that as a yes,” Zuko says after a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’d talk to you about it privately, but, you know,” Sokka points to the Warriors in the front seat. Sokka catches Imula’s amber eyes in the rearview mirror. “You understand where I’m coming from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! Yeah. I’m sorry. I just...I wanted to make sure we were on the same page and everything and. Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee squeezes Sokka’s hand one more time before turning his entire body away from Sokka and towards the blur of scenery beyond the Sato window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s hand leaves a lingering pulse in his palm. Sokka sighs and turns towards his own window. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stars still speckle the sky when they arrive at the airport. Since Sokka’s departure was supposed to be lowkey, he wasn’t worried about paparazzi, but the minute they step out of the car, he notices them everywhere. They start taking pictures immediately, the flashing lights making it hard to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Solan says. “I’ll wave them off. You and Lee keep your heads ducked as you walk in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks bitterly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he and Lee bustle. They grab their things from the back and practically sprint into the airport with their heads down. As soon as they’re past the doors, they come to a full stop and peer at each other. The slightest tinge of pink graces the skin just below Lee’s eyes and slowly spreads across his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m never going to get used to </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Lee says before taking a look at his phone. “We have a lot of time. Do you want to get checked in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might as well,” Sokka says. “All the good stuff’s past the check-in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, it doesn’t look like too many people are traveling today. Or, this early, at least. They get through the check-in in no time and now that they don’t have their luggage, they can roam without having to drag stuff around. Lee walks with his hands in his pockets, Sokka wringing the straps of his backpack. The two mosey about, wordlessly eyeing each shop they pass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All until Lee says, “I’m surprised that the Warriors aren’t with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mom almost made me bring them,” Sokka says, eyes grazing along the fast-food restaurant signs. “We almost got in a little tiff over it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka comes to a stumbling stop at the sight of yet another Jasmine Dragon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Lee asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many of these are there?” Sokka asks, waving his hand at the impostor store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Lee says, rubbing the back of his neck, “It’s a chain store, so, thousands? There are at least three in Republic City.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A travesty,” Sokka mumbles, marching right towards it so he can see just how authentic they have it. (Sokka never orders anything “original” from Zuko’s shop just because he refuses to be disappointed by Zuko making it so wrong. Someone else is allowed to because he wouldn't feel bad for calling them out.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like an Appa,” Sokka says as soon as he meets the worker at the counter. </span>
  <em>
    <span>At least this Jasmine Dragon has the color scheme down</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks as he slaps down the black card on the counter. He peers around, taking in its cool greens and beiges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a chip reader, sir. You have to stick it in,” the employee says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right, sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee comes up behind him while he sticks it in the chip reader. “You good?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m picky,” Sokka says, stepping towards the counter where he picks up his drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can tell,” Lee replies. “You’re never picky with me, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You get a pass because you’re cute,” Sokka says, drumming his fingers against the counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are my drinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Zuko asks, an edge of defensiveness in his tone. Sokka catches a glimpse of him in his peripheral—his arms are crossed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka tries to suppress the smirk. “You make great drinks, Hotman. I’m just a snob.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This dissolves the defense. Lee’s smile slowly creeps back onto his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Sokka gets his drink, he pops the top with his straw and takes a giant sip. He grimaces at the taste. It’s not bad, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That bad? Or are you just being a ‘snob?’” Lee takes the drink from Sokka and takes a sip before grimacing himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad?” Sokka asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like tapioca balls,” Lee says. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What a nerd</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks with a grin on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two pass the drink back and forth as they explore the airport gift shops. A lot of the shops are filled with tacky Republic City tourist shit, but there are a few shops that the two wander in and find things they may like. Jewelry, music boxes, things of that nature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each shop is left empty-handed, and as soon as they’re finished wandering through the strip of stores, it’s time for boarding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m probably going to sleep,” Lee says as they walk shoulder to shoulder towards the gate. Sokka can see the gate number, so they don’t have to rush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we have seats that fully recline,” Sokka says. There’s already a long line for first class. The airport seemed empty, but he guesses everyone felt the need to fly to the Fire Nation in the wee hours of the morning. Maybe they should’ve started making their way over earlier….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to read the book you gave me,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee almost stops walking, but they need to hurry, so Sokka grabs his wrist and continues towards the line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, the historical fiction?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Lee tries to stop, but Sokka yanks him a little harder this time. Once they’re standing in line, Sokka gives him his full attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you’d really read that,” Lee admits. “I don’t know. You always read history books. I didn’t know you’d be into—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Sokka rests his hand on Lee’s bicep and gives it a squeeze. “Give me whatever you got. I’ll read it. I’m actually really interested to see what the author thinks happened between Fire Lord Zuko and Ambassador Sokka.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a little cheesy, honestly,” Lee says, tucking some hair behind his ear. (It’s getting long and Sokka </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t all love stories?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not if they’re written well?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka hums. “I think cheese adds to the romance, honestly. Makes it fun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee giggles. Sokka, without thinking about it, wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into his side as they take several steps up in the line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In what feels both like no time and several hours, the two board the plane and find their seats. It’s first-class, but they’re seated together and as soon as Lee’s plopped down in a chair, he starts to recline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to take off, first,” Sokka tells him, opening his backpack. He grabs the novel and leans back, flipping open to the first page. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you bring anything else to read?” Lee asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka pulls out one of the history books he brought with one hand and tosses it in Lee’s direction; his eyes are focused on the words on the page in front of him until Lee grunts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems that Sokka dropped the book right on his crotch. Lee’s two shades too pale and his eye twitches when Sokka meets his gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please. Please be careful,” Lee wheezes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Sokka says, trying to take the book back. Zuko swats his hand away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave me to my own devices, chaos spirit,” he says before picking up the book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka knows he shouldn’t be smiling, but he can’t help it. He disguises the grin by turning back to the book.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first hour of the flight, Sokka reads to himself. Reclined, feet planted on the chair in front of him because he is, indeed, one to wreak havoc, and is fully immersed in what’s on the page in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee, on the other hand, is asleep almost as soon as they’re allowed to unbuckle. He’s fully reclined, tucked under the tiny blanket they provide, and out like a light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the second hour approaches, and as Sokka starts to get bored with the complete and utter lies in the historical fiction, he turns his attention to Lee. He’s still asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka used to like to watch Zuko when he slept. When they were young, Zuko was always so filled with anger and angst. Sleeping seemed to be the only time he knew peace--when he wasn’t having night terrors or nightmares. He would get so incredibly calm and his face smoothed out. Even when Sokka became an ambassador and he was up at the dead of night, roaming the corridors of the Fire Nation palace, he would check up on him and see if he was at peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lifetimes later, Lee still wears that look: the sheer bliss that can come from sleep. He’s so soft—Sokka almost wants to reach out and caress his cheek, feel the way his skin is soft around his unharmed eye (forget the chafing around it). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But going into the third hour of flying, Lee starts to toss and turn in his sleep. He mumbles under his breath and Sokka can’t pick up what he’s saying. This reaction he’s giving</span>
  <span>—furrowed brows, grunting, mumbling—is akin to the night terrors Zuko had.  And just like</span>
  <span> he would lives ago, he wakes up with a startled gasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He peers over at Sokka with wide, confused eyes. His pupils are terribly dilated and he looks just about ready to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anytime this happened to Zuko when he was around, Sokka would be there for him. Usually, that meant sitting around with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In this case, Sokka holds a hand out for Lee to take and he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re on a plane,” Sokka tells him. “We’re in first class. You wanted to take a nap. Are you with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee, panting slightly, nods. “Yeah...yeah. I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you get these often?” Sokka asks, brow furrowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why would he get night terrors? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka reaches out and rests a hand on Zuko’s forehead. It’s slicked with sweat, but he’s not feverish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only lately. The same time I started having the weird dreams.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stifles a gasp. If that’s so….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It reminds him a lot of his metamorphosis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of getting Zuko back so soon...he wants to grin, but he doesn’t want to scare Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods, lips pressed together to hide the excitement that comes with Zuko’s return. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How soon? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What do I do to prepare?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I scream?” Lee asks, bringing him back to first class. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shakes his head. “You were mumbling, but I couldn’t hear what you were saying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.” Lee sits there for a moment, staring forward at the television in front of them. He sits the chair up until the leather’s touching his back. “Anyway. Did you finish the book?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They get off of the plane only a handful of minutes after Lee wakes up and are quickly ushered onto the ferry. Sokka’s only smacked in the face with exhaustion when they’re on the boat, and by the time they reach Hira’a, he’s too tired to tell who’s picking the two up and delivering them to the Hong Residence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point on the car ride, Sokka passes out. Lee must’ve carried him into the house because when he wakes up, he’s staring at the beige ceiling of a room he’s never been in. The light in the room is slated, filtrated through blinds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka blinks a couple of times, smacking his lips and cringing slightly. He’ll need to brush his teeth before he leaves the room. He grabs his glasses from the windowsill and sticks them on his face before rolling onto his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staring back at him is a fairly...normal room. Its maple-wooden walls are covered with pictures</span>
  <span>—some teeny-bopper magazine posters, others grand paintings of the southern aurora or turtleducks. (Lee must really love his pets—maybe Sokka needs to commission a painting of Druk.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A desk sits across from him, dao swords hung on display above it. Near the bed is a low-sitting dresser of mismatched wood. Dozens of things are stacked on top, and propping himself up on his elbow, it looks to be a shit ton of mail from when he was away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rolls onto his back and pushes himself up, groaning. The sun’s overhead, but its rays are bright. He turns to his left and peers out the blinds to find a small courtyard. It’s mostly thick and vibrant green grass, but there’s a shallow pond just in eye’s view. Sitting at its edge is a small family of turtleducks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile curls at his lip at the sight of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of a sliding door startles Sokka slightly. He jumps in his seat and whips around, only to find Lee standing there dressed head to toe in casual wear. His hair’s pulled up out of his face and when his eyes land on Sokka, he smiles. He’s holding a tray of food</span>
  <span>—fruits, mostly, and a loaf of bread as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were out for a while,” Lee says. He sits in the middle of the room and places the tray on the ground in front of him. Sokka slinks down and sits opposite of Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long?” Sokka asks. He takes one of the cut-up slices of fruit and takes a bite. It’s sweet and crisp, way better than fruit they could buy at a grocery store in Republic City. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eight hours?” Lee says, tearing off some of the bread. He takes a bite from it. “I was out for a little, too, but you </span>
  <em>
    <span>knocked out</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the drive home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t sleep on the plane,” Sokka says. “I feel bad for not greeting whoever picked us up, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee chortles, tossing the bread between his hands. “Yeah, we could tell you weren’t fully there. You asked Sina if they wanted wine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, so Lee’s siblings are in town? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A part of Sokka’s excited to meet Sina and Arola. The other part feels like he’s intruding, just a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have wine, though,” Sokka says before taking another bite. “I brought it to thank your parents for letting me stay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee draws his chin back slightly, eyes wide with surprise. “Oh, really?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods, sticking another slice of fruit in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can give it to them at dinner. They’re usually out all day,” Lee says. He sets down the piece of bread he broke off and reaches over towards the bag he brought with him. He pulls out his laptop and migrates, leaning against his dresser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Lee waits for Sokka to finish his snack, he starts typing something up on his computer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between chews, Sokka asks, “What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, I have to print out a list and our tickets. I also need to type some of the questions we need to send the professor—and the thing we need to submit on Tuesday. </span>
  <span>Did you do the—ah, yep. Here.” Lee scrolls through the paper, eyes scanning the screen so fast, it almost makes Sokka dizzy to watch. “When did you do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The past couple of days. Does it surprise you that it’s decent?” Sokka asks, now getting to the bread. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just...so detailed. Where are your sources?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at the bottom of the paper. It’s all there,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It was agonizing to sort through all of the books that contained this information—he was relying on pure memory, but you </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to cite your sources and you can’t cite yourself.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s eyebrows raise, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>not bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> expression crossing his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you doubting my abilities?” Sokka jabs. He pokes one of Lee’s sock-clad feet; he jerks it back and glares at Sokka, trying to hold back the smile that’s daring to break out across his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, and be careful. I’m ticklish.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s good to know,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sokka thinks with a devilish grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two resort back to silence as Sokka scarfs down the rest of the bread—this gives him the time to fully take Lee in for what he’s wearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>First off, the hair. He knew, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> that if he saw Lee with his hair casually pulled up, he would lose his shit. Consider it lost. He can’t stop looking at it. His hair’s soft, fluffy, and clean; a few black strands fall in his face as he types on his computer. Sokka almost reaches out to push those hairs behind his ear, but he stops himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another thing he takes note of is Lee’s focused face. It practically mirrors Zuko’s. There’s a slight crinkle in his brow when he’s headfirst in what he’s doing, and the tip of his tongue pokes out ever so slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking the final bite of his bread, he gazes over the clothes he decided to wear. A teal short sleeve tee and terracotta shorts—Sokka’s never seen him in shorts before. It’s a sight to behold—strong calves, thick thighs with little lightning bolt stretch marks crawling up them. Sokka bites his lip, gulping the remaining bread down </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Self-control</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the voice in his head reminds him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. You’ll have him in time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like your legs,” Sokka spits out anyway, and in such a painfully awkward manner that he feels like his head’s going to pop from the rush of blood making its way upward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee peers up at him, head cocked to the side. “My legs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka giggles nervously. “I mean, yeah, but I didn’t mean to say that out loud and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee reaches over and squeezes Sokka’s sweatpant-covered calf. “Why are you panicking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee giggles himself, shutting the laptop. “Thank you. I would say that I like your legs, too, but I haven’t seen them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Giving another squeeze, Lee smirks a little. Sokka swats his hand away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You get to see them today! I brought jorts!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Sokka scrambles up to put on said jorts, Lee stands himself and takes the tray. “Just come out when you’re done. I have to get a few things before we set out for the day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take Sokka too long to get dressed, but when it comes down to brushing his teeth, he doesn’t know where to go. There isn’t a bathroom en suite, so he walks into the hall, holding his contacts case, a hair tie, and his toothbrush, peering around with a lost gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone sweeps into the hall, their hair much like Lee’s—tied up, shaved sides; the only difference is that the hair on top is waist-length. Their gaze, too, is much like Lee’s, but is sharper and holds a more honey-like hue. They don’t look mean, but certainly skeptical as they give Sokka a onceover. They’re dressed nice—pin-striped button-down, black pants, boots, and a bamboo-woven hat hanging from their neck—and have dozens of piercings; most on their ears, but a few on their face: their septum, lip, and eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Sokka’s correct, this is Sina, the oldest sibling of the Hong family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” they say. “So, you’re the guy Lee brought home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka blinks, not quite sure what to make of the person in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you bring us in this morning?” Sokka asks, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina—he’s still assuming—nods once. “What was with the wine thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought some as a thank you present,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And like that, the piercing gaze melts and reveals much softer amber eyes. A smile tugs at their lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had to make sure you weren’t entitled. You’re looking for the bathroom, right?” They slouch a little, stuffing their hands into their pockets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka laughs nervously. “Yeah. I just need to wash up before Lee and I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean ‘we?” Sina asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not that Sokka’s opposed to going out with Lee’s siblings, but he was under the impression that—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s thoughts are disrupted when Sina starts to laugh. It’s loud and snorty and a lot like Lee’s when he loses himself in his laughter. “You should’ve seen the look on your face! But now I know your motives.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What motives?” Sokka asks, completely sure that Sina doesn’t know shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They step closer to him and with their boots, they’re maybe an inch or so taller than Sokka. He quietly gulps when they lean in his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurt Lee and I’ll show you how hot fire can get, okay?” They pat Sokka’s cheek. “The bathroom’s down the hall to the left. The door’s open, so it’s hard to miss.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina walks away, leaving Sokka sweating there, yet stuck to the spot. Then, he remembers that Sina can’t firebend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that Sokka will ever hurt Lee, but even if he did, the threat’s empty. And Lee can stand up for himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’ll</span>
  </em>
  <span> show Sokka how hot fire can get. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka finds the bathroom quite easily, and it only takes him a few minutes to get ready for the day. As soon as he is—and after he runs back to Lee’s room and gets his fanny pack—Sokka finds Lee in one of the rooms between the bathroom and his room. He’s looking over a sheet of paper in his hand, mumbling under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an office space—Sokka notices as he steps through the door—composed of the maple wood bookshelves and a desk of the same variant. A computer and printer sit on top of it, and Lee just notices him when the door squeals as it slides across the tracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s eyebrows nearly graze his hairline as he takes a look at Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka, buddy, you look like a tourist,” Lee says. “Like, a pure tourist. Why do you need a fanny pack?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka scoffs. “Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> I need a fanny pack? I can put money and snacks and dozens of other things in here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee chortles. “But it’s a fanny pack.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, king of fashion, what should I put our stuff in, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chill,” Lee says, rounding the desk. He comes into arm’s reach of Sokka and pulls him closer by the shoulders, still gauging his outfit. “Maybe it’s the floral button-down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with it?” Sokka says, crossing his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In doing so, there’s something that Lee must catch—the piercing judgement turns into slight interest with the subtle cock of his head. He takes the collar of Sokka’s shirt and pulls down the left side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On Sokka’s shoulder, closer to his collarbone, is a tattoo of a compass. It’s something that feels generic and probably looks it too, but it’s not complete. It’s one part of the eventual sleeve he wants to get—he wants it to tell his story, share his lives, and how even in all of the struggles he’s faced, he managed to take the right direction: straight to Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he’s found him, he feels that he can keep going with the tattoo, but he should probably wait until he’s out of the Green House. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you not notice this when we met?” Sokka asks. Lee’s fingers gingerly trace the intricately tattooed arrow of the compass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You kind of threw up all over the floor of my store. I had a lot more on my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> checking out my chest, though,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Lose the shirt,” Lee says, ignoring Sokka. (His body doesn’t—his face is red.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After spending a few more minutes bickering about Sokka’s choice of clothing, the two leave the office and enter the kitchen. They walk shoulder to shoulder, peering down at the list in Lee’s hands, and don’t notice someone else is in there until she speaks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tui and La!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka jumps, grasping onto Lee’s arm in surprise. He peers into the same honey eyes that Sina has. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee! Oh, my Spirits! What the fuck?” The girl—Arola—hops out of her chair and points at Sokka like he’s not there, or not...real. The experience is slightly disorienting nonetheless and Sokka turns to Lee for help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, I got Sokka. Can you be normal, though?” Lee asks, the guise of embarrassment blanketing his features. He peers up at Sokka with a hint of an apology in his gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just….” Arola huffs and makes her way over, bowing in front of Sokka with a sense of dignity that isn’t there in any of her other actions. “Hello, Mr. Marniq? Mr. Sokka?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka, please,” Sokka says, cringing at the other names. He bows in response, and when he stands straight, Arola giggles like a child. Her eyes are wide and curious like one, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arola, you’re weirding him out,” Lee groans, shaking his arm out of Sokka’s grasp. He crosses the kitchen and fishes something out of a bowl by the backdoor. “Apologize to him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arola rolls her eyes until she looks at Sokka again. He’s standing there and must be wearing some look on his face because Arola’s giddiness turns into something of regret. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless, she deflects the issue and turns to Lee. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t be acting like this if the circumstances were different!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee stops, his hand in frozen suspension with the keys dangling from his grasp. “That’s not true. Sokka, can we go?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something in how Lee talks seems off. He turns to Sokka, but his gaze wavers from him, to something else, and then back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arola’s defenses drop and the regret now seems genuine. “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel weird and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just reintroduce yourself at dinner,” Lee says, tearing the back door open. “Are you ready, Sokka?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka smiles at Arola who now stands limply, remorse blanketed over her. “Sorry, Sokka. Have fun, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee slams the door behind them as soon as Sokka follows him outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Hira’a, you can walk around to where you need to go—the island is small enough to where, at most, you need a bike. While it’s updated and geared itself with modern influences as the years have passed, it’s still very much the small island Sokka knew it to be. The roads aren’t paved and people line the streets, whether it be vendors or kids running about on a weekend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Sokka absorbs the lively energy the streets of Hira’a provide, Zuko sulks beside him, keeping his eyes on the paper in his hands. He’s got a small pout on his face and he’s wearing a signature Zuko brood. Sokka’s never seen Lee quite like this, so just as they’re about to approach the large theatre in the middle of the village, Sokka takes a hold of his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko pulls it from his grasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee veers around. “I don’t get it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s head cocks to the side. “Don’t get what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you like me? You saw what I was like before we actually met. Didn’t you see the poster of yourself in my bedroom? Or the way Arola was behaving? I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> like her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka thinks about it for a moment. Who would Lee be to Sokka if he wasn’t Zuko? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A classmate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone he may say hello and goodbye to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The very thought makes his stomach churn with unease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing is, that’s not the case. They teamed up on their senior project. They became friends. They kissed. Now, they’re here in Hira’a, Lee’s hometown. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s only because he’s Zuko</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the voice in his head reminds him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>None of this would’ve happened if he weren’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka squeezes his eyes shut, ignoring the true words that he absolutely hates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mere,” Sokka says, opening his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee stares at him, defenses building around him as he stands there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I need to use grabby hands?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you like me?” Lee asks again, his voice wavering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re kind,” Sokka says, holding out his grabby hands anyway. “And you’re a dork, and blunt, and I love it when you stick your tongue out of the corner of your mouth when you focus. And I love your legs, and the way you look at me when you’re really happy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t Zuko</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the voice says again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words are like a stab in the gut, but he beckons Lee over regardless, waving him over. “C’mere, Lee.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee does, right into Sokka’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka holds him for a minute, enjoying his softness, his warmth, and the way jasmine always seems to linger on him. “I love your hugs,” Sokka continues, “and the way they make me feel safe and comfortable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stooop,” Lee groans, burying his face in Sokka’s bare neck. “You’re going to make me mushy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re already mushy,” Sokka says. He pulls away ever so slightly from Lee and sandwiches his cheeks between his hands. He tilts his head upward so Lee can give him his undivided attention. “Why are you acting like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee takes a deep breath and exhales—fire coils out of his nostrils and up into the air between them. Sokka steps back a bit, but keeps his hands on Zuko’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to keep walking if we don’t want to be late,” Lee says. He pulls away from Sokka’s embrace, but captures one of Sokka’s hands and entwines their fingers. Their hands swing freely in the space between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” Sokka asks as they round the building they need to enter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m insecure,” Lee admits, eyes on the ground below them. “I just...I don’t think I’ll ever get it. Arola shows you how weird I can be about things I like and...and, I don’t know. But I always ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>why me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because he’s Zuko; you just need to make him remember.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka almost stumbles to a stop at the voice in his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s telling the truth, but...but….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tickets?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka realizes that they’re at the front of the theatre—its roof is bowed and red and spans far across the sky. It’s all wood and beautifully designed—nothing like the cool glass and steel of Republic City. It’s something Sokka likes far more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t they in your fanny pack?” Lee quips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka unzips it and hands them over to Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two walk through and head towards their seats after the usher gives them a nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On their way up to the mezzanine they’re sitting in, Sokka grabs a couple of playbills and raises a brow; they’re seeing </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Boy in the Iceberg</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t this Fire Nation propaganda?” Sokka asks incredulously as they take a seat. They sit right along the lip of the mezzanine, so they have a good view of the stage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-what do you mean?” Lee asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, the last time I saw it, Fire Lord Ozai won the war in this play.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When was the last time you saw it? They changed </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> almost directly after the war,” Lee says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka laughs it off. “I’m pulling your leg.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee doesn’t look like he quite believes him, but says nothing of it. Instead, he leans back against the red suede chairs and peers down at the drawn curtain below. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The play’s unlike anything Sokka saw when he was first alive. The Fire Nation must’ve realized real fast after the war that it was propaganda; the show ends up being a whole lot closer to what actually happened—all except the fact that they, again, reduce Sokka to nothing but a walking punchline. At least the jokes are better than they had been when Sokka first saw it, and the ending is near accurate (as accurate as you can be with a stage production budget) in how Aang defeated Ozai. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>During intermissions, Sokka tries to talk to Lee, but Lee seems distracted—far away from where they are and much like he left his brain in Republic City. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end of the show, when the actors bow and migrate to the front of the theatre to sign playbills, Lee doesn’t look like he’s there at all. His eyes are glazed over and he sits in his chair, limp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The very sight scares the shit out of Sokka. He’s too pale and clammy under Sokka’s palm when he feels his forehead. It almost burns to the touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee?” Sokka says, traces of panic in his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he says. He slowly turns to Sokka. He’s still not there with him; it’s like he’s asleep with his eyes open. “I don’t feel good. Can we go home?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s voice is flat and eerie to Sokka. Something in his gut tells him something’s wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Sokka says, his hand traveling to his cheek. He gives it a small squeeze. “Can you walk?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee nods, but only just barely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walk home is slow and steady, Sokka practically carrying most of Lee’s weight as they wander along the dirt path. The longer he carries him along, the more Sokka feels like something is </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and when they walk through the backdoor of his house, he almost collapses. Sokka holds him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Lee, we’re almost there,” Sokka says, voice wavering with uneasiness. “Chair or bed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee?” someone says—an older woman. Sokka peers over and finds his family sitting around their table, just about ready to eat. They’re all alarmed, wide honey and gold eyes staring right back at him. The woman—Lee’s mother—stands up and hurries over to them, placing her hand on the semi-conscious Lee’s back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’ feel good,” Lee slurs. “Bed?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah.” Sokka, pumped with fear and a bit of adrenaline, scoops Lee up with ease and carries him to his room. Lee’s head lolls side to side as he walks, his eyes rolled back ever so slightly. The sight makes Sokka’s heart pound against his ribcage, tears rimming his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon reaching his room, he wedges his foot between the crack and the doorframe and pushes it open. The light flickers on behind him and he places Lee on the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe we should take him to the hospital,” Sokka says shakily. Lee’s way too pale and his eyes roll all the way back. He can only see the whites. His palms start to sweat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, no,” Lee breathes. “Jus...jus take off m’clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee,” Sokka says, obeying him. He peels off Lee’s top and slicks back any stray hairs in his face. “You should—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M’fine,” he says, even though he certainly doesn’t look it. “Can I haveuh wet cloth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got it,” Lee’s mom says. She walks out of the room—Sokka can only tell by the way her footsteps grow quieter as she makes her way down the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka sits there at Lee’s side, taking quick shaky breaths. His hands tremble while brushing the hair out of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You asked </span>
  <em>
    <span>why me</span>
  </em>
  <span> earlier.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee sighs. “Mm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s because you make me happy when no one else can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s eyes open a tad. “Stop actin like’m dyin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka blinks and a few tears roll down his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s mother bustles in and places a cool rag on his forehead and chest. Lee sighs in relief. “Gimme a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should stay in here, baby,” she says, reaching over Sokka’s shoulder. She strokes his cheek with her knuckles. “Rest. I’ll bring you some water, okay? I want you to drink the whole glass.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ji-Yeong’s other hand rests on Sokka’s shoulder. “You should go and eat something, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom,” Lee says, trying to push himself up a little. Sokka places his hand on his shoulder. “M’okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re having heat exhaustion. Please just lay down, Lee,” she tells him a little more firmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee huffs but doesn’t fight any further. He closes his eyes and lets himself rest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ji-Yeong walks out before Sokka, but she says again, “Please join us for dinner. We’d love to get to know you,” before disappearing down the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka turns to Lee, running his fingers through his hair again. He pulls the hair tie out of it and Lee groans a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m letting your hair down, Sunshine. I don’t know if it’ll help, but....” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee nods a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka leans over and places a kiss on his forehead. He pushes himself off the bed and is just about to wander off, but Lee catches his hand and tugs him back. He raises Sokka’s knuckles up to his lips and presses a kiss to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You make me happy, too,” he mutters. “M’not dying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Sokka says now, the fear ebbing as Lee talks to him. “Try to sleep, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee lets his hand go so Sokka can leave, and after grabbing the wine bottle, he makes his way to the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s family kneel about the table, passing food between each other. There are two spots open—one for Lee and one for him. It feels odd being the only one to sit down, but when he situates himself next to Sho, he’s greeted kindly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be damned,” Lee’s father says with a smile on his face. “You’re Sokka Marniq.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Sir. It’s nice to meet you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you holding?” Lee’s mom asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka glances down at the bottle in his hands and holds it up. “I-I thought it would be nice to bring this since you’re letting me stay here for the weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina snorts. “He offered me some earlier.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka turns red. “I was half-awake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can take it,” Sho says, smiling even wider at Sokka. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s so nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks. No wonder Lee is. He hands it over to Sho and he places it in the middle of the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smiles in Sokka’s direction, however, fade quickly and concern washes over the table. As Sho ladles some soup for Sokka into one bowl and gets his rice for him in another, Sina asks, “What happened to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lump rises in Sokka’s throat. “We were watching something at the theatre and he was quiet between intermissions. I thought he was just...thinking, I guess. We kind of had a moment beforehand and I thought that he was still in his head. But then when the play was over, he looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems like a heat stroke or heat exhaustion,” Ji-Yeong says calmly, but worry still wavers in her tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s been out of the Fire Nation for too long,” Arola says, half-teasing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina nudges her in the ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That would make a lot of sense, but it still doesn’t sit right with Sokka. He was so helpless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll check up on him after dinner,” Ji-Yeong says with a sigh. “And I’m guessing that you’ll share a room with him, Sokka? Can you keep an eye on him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods fervently. “Of course.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From there, Sho changes the conversation. More like, he decides to tell Sokka a bunch of embarrassing baby Lee stories to lift morale. Sokka thanks the Spirits for it because he needs a mood-booster, even though concern nestles itself in the pit of Sokka’s stomach. But he laughs at dinner and learns, truly understands, just how loved Lee is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They talk about Lee like he’s a beacon of light. They share stories of the good he’s done—they have the turtleduck family because Lee rescued them in a storm—and how he’s always been a gentle soul romping through this Fire Nation village. Kind. Quiet. Fair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s an echo of who Zuko became, but was raised at the hands of people who cared. Lee lives the life Zuko deserved, and now he gets it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka retires long after the day is cloaked by the nighttime sky and once the bowls are empty and the bottle of wine’s half gone. After getting ready for bed, he stumbles to the room of the man he understands just a little bit more now. When he opens the door, he finds him laying under the covers, turned on his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he okay?” Ji-Yeong whispers from the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka paces up to Lee and peers over him, making sure his chest still rises and falls—it does. He’s not clammy or feverish under his hand, either, so he peels the wet cloths from his body and crosses the room, handing them over to Lee’s mom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me know if anything happens,” she tells him with a concerned smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Sokka says. “Good night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bedroom door slides closed and Sokka crawls into bed with Lee, laying across from him. Moonbeams caress the high points of Lee’s face, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Unadulterated peace remains, even as the beams shine bright through the slats of the blinds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka prays another night terror won’t wake him up. </span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <span>In the middle of the night, the bed shifts enough to where it rattles Sokka awake.  His vision is cloudy and dark at first, but then he notices the outline of a body standing in the middle of the room. Sokka grabs for his glasses and shoves them onto his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee stands there, walking slowly towards his bedroom door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about this doesn’t sit right with Sokka. He’s probably just getting up to use the restroom, but his pace and the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other feels all wrong, so quietly, Sokka stands up and starts to follow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s like it was what Lee was expecting him to do. He picks up speed and slips down the hall, to the kitchen, and through the back door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka follows, not asking him why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stars are bright in Hira’a—so much so they almost act as a pathway down the dirt road. Sokka stumbles along, following Lee but keeping his eyes on the stars. They freckle the sky en masse and wink down at him as he wanders down the trail at Lee’s lead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They only stop walking when they reach the old theatre—Hira’a likes to honor their history, so while they have the larger theatre, its predecessor still stands as a testament to Hira’a heritage. They stand in its “backstage” right in front of some masks. One Sokka recognizes right away and his heart drops. A mask painted blue and white stares back at him, it’s tusks long and intimidating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka never dealt with the Blue Spirit in person, but Zuko told him about his vigilante days when they were older and greying. Sokka thought it was impressive. Zuko, not so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It can’t be original. It’s too white and blue and certainly doesn’t look like it’s been waterlogged at one point or another. But it seems to serve as a reminder—there’s a small placard next to where it hangs. Before he can read it, Lee makes a noise of disgruntlement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this doing here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Sokka asks, confusion stirring up in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dropped this into Lake Laogai years ago,” Zuko says. “How did they get this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stutters a gasp, eyes wide and body frozen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zuko?” he whimpers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he gets no response. Zuko stands there unmoving, even as a gust of wind blows through the street and stirs the dirt into the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thousands of thoughts whir through Sokka’s mind as he squeezes his eyes shut to protect his eyes from the dust. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Does he remember?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is he finally here?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What do I do when he turns around?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>All of these questions build up and make his body tense. He feels the need to cry as he opens his eyes and they sting in the wind, but when Zuko turns around, all of the wound-up emotions uncoil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s asleep—he looks too far away to be there with Sokka.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s there—</span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> there. Will he remember in the morning? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That doesn’t matter right now, as much as Sokka’s potential excitement starts to build up within him again. Zuko’s asleep, they need to get back to his home, and in the morning, they can figure it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Sokka says quietly. He takes Zuko’s hand in his and pulls him a little closer. “Let’s go back home, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko doesn’t answer and Sokka doesn’t expect him to. He scoops the man into his arms and carries him back down the dirt road, keeping his eyes ahead the whole time. </span>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <span>A second time in the night, Zuko awakens Sokka. After they got home, he thought they were settled in—Sokka made sure Zuko was tucked in and comfortable before falling back asleep himself. But it feels that as soon as he closed his eyes, he opens them back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko is sitting up now, breathing heavily. His skin glistens with sweat in the moonlight. He sniffs a couple of times, and when he looks in Sokka’s direction, he chokes out a quiet sob. Those golden eyes burn bright with fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Sunshine,” Sokka says quietly. He rests a hand on Zuko’s bare back. “Hey, what’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko doesn’t say anything. He scrambles towards Sokka and collapses into his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naturally, Sokka pulls him close; Zuko gets comfortable, still half hyperventilating. But when his back touches Sokka’s chest, his breathing slows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Sokka croons in his ear. “I was scared, too, but try to go back to sleep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko sniffs and his body loosens up under Sokka’s touch. Sokka’s eyelids begin to weigh down with exhaustion as Zuko winds down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just before he can fall asleep for the final time that early morning, Sokka presses a kiss to Zuko’s temple and nuzzles his face into his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he slips back into the waves of unconsciousness. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, friends! Back to our regularly scheduled program. Anyway. </p><p>What's up? </p><p>QotC: <br/>1. Does Lee's "why me" hold any power? Do you think it will reoccur? <br/>2. Do you think that Sokka's ready for him to remember, or that he really wants him to?<br/>3. Do you think Zuko will remember? Is he remembering? </p><p>Excited to see what y'all think!</p><p>Also, this story's reached over 300 kudos! I have ideas for one shots, but is there anything y'all want to see? We're almost halfway through the story, so there's still a lot that's going to happen, but think about it. Every hundred kudos, I'll write a reader-suggested one shot :)</p><p>Lastly, we have some chapter 10 fanart by the amazing <a href="https://zukkanthis.tumblr.com/">Holo</a>! Thank you so much friend!! They look amazing!</p><p>
  
</p><p>Don't forget to follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka">Twitter</a>, and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lovelyzukka/">Instagram</a> (though, my IG's very empty at the moment). Love y'all!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. This Side of Paradise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dawn barely paints the sky when Sokka wakes up. Hues of coral and lilac illuminate Lee’s room and they’re the first thing that he notices when his eyes flutter open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second thing he notices is that, while Zuko laid in his arms quite fitfully last night, Sokka wakes to an empty bed. Sokka’s tucked in, a pillow wedged between his arms. He made sure to take care of Sokka’s comfort, but where is he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka sits up, the air in the room still and stuffy from Hira’a’s tropical climate. He takes a deep breath anyway, stretching his hands far above his head until his back pops a couple of times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While doing his stretches, he takes a peek through the open blinds and notices a blurry lump of a person sitting at the edge of the pond. The tuft of black hair and the terracotta shorts tell Sokka exactly who it is, but he shoves his glasses on his face regardless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko sits at the edge of the pond, peering at his reflection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Sokka’s first instinct to scramble up and find out how to get to him, but then last night’s escapade slaps him in the face. Just as his fingers curl around the sheets to pull them down, the thought crosses his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What do I do now that Zuko remembers?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought chokes Sokka up, makes his throat constrict, and though he’s smiling, an overwhelming feeling creeps through his veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that Zuko remembers, he wins; </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> win. They can fuck off and get a house somewhere far away—hell, in the Southern Water Tribe—and get married and have kids. They can do everything they wanted in their last shared life together, tick off the boxes left unmarked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s everything he wanted, yet there’s something that sits wrong with him. He can’t put his finger on it, but a sense of foreboding rolls through his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka leans against the windowsill, watching Zuko for a minute. He’s unmoving, stone-like even as the wind whips up around him. The water ripples into small waves and the grass sways with the air. Zuko’s hair ruffles up even more than it is, but he sits there like he hadn’t felt it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking away from where he sits, several questions wander about Sokka’s mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What does he say when he goes out there? How does he introduce himself? Does he say he’s been waiting for him? That he’s been trying his damndest, yet in every lifetime, they seem to just miss each other? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka almost doesn’t want to go out there. He hugs his knees to his chest and sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point or another, he has to. He has to go to him, sit by his side, and tell him how hard he tried. He has to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Might as well be now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s as quiet as he can be in a mostly wood house. He prays that the door doesn’t squeak when he pushes it open and pads down the hallway, through the kitchen, and to the backdoor. He only stops walking on the balls of his feet when they meet the cool stone of the pathway that leads him to the backyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko sits still as a statue even as Sokka trods through the grass; it’s like he doesn’t notice anything around him. For a moment, Sokka wonders if he’s even awake, but then he notices a small turtleduck tucked between his chest and arms. Zuko’s fingers work slowly, caressing the yellow softness of the baby turtleduck’s feathers, and when Sokka gets closer, he hears him singing quietly. Sokka wonders if it’s to himself or to the turtleduck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sokka’s only feet away from him, he stops again. He tries to take a step forward, but his toes sting. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now what? </span>
  </em>
  <span>that voice sings. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now what, now what?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka pushes through the overwhelming uncertainty and takes a seat next to Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now what?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They’ll figure it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko continues to sing for a moment under his breath. Something light and airy that sweeps up with the wind. But Sokka catches his voice when the breeze lets up and it’s beautiful. Soft. Quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko takes Sokka’s hand into his during this time and he doesn’t notice their fingers are entwined until he feels his pulse in his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the singing ceases. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s sinuses sting, his throat further closing up and his eyes, damming the tears for now, are just about full of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What does he say? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What does he </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m going crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s bottom lip trembles, a breath caught in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What does he mean? Zuko remembers. He has to; he remembered his mask last night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T-that usually happens at first,” Sokka says, holding out for that fact. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He has to remember</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko scoops the turtleduck from his chest into his free hand and holds it up for Sokka to see. He gives it a quick look, but that’s not what he cares about. He peers beyond Zuko’s hand and at his face. His eyes glow with confusion and fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmering just under the surface, Zuko’s right there. The ice has melted; he just needs to plunge his hand into the water and pull him out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Ilura. She was really little when she hatched and her mommy wouldn’t take care of her. Mom told me all about her while I was away and look how big she’s getting.” Zuko forces a smile on his face, but it’s quick to slip. His hand is trembling. “She doesn’t need anyone to take care of her anymore, but she’s still small.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s doing what he can to pull himself together, but Zuko illuminates through his cracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Right there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s slipping. He’s scared and uncertain, and even though Sokka’s in a fragile state, he needs to make sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zuko</span>
  </em>
  <span> is okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sunshine,” Sokka says, voice wavering with the wind. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko lowers his hand to the ground; the turtleduck hops off and slides into the water to cross the pond so she can join her siblings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling his hand back to himself, Zuko wraps his arms around his legs and leans forward ever so slightly, peering into the water. It’s distorted from the purling, but his reflection still stares back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka leans forward himself, not taking his eyes off of the shimmering reflection. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Plunge your hand into the water, pull him out. Right there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko unravels one of his arms from his body and raises his hand to where it just rests over his left eye. His fingers settle in the socket and he splays them in a way that imitates Zuko’s scar from his past life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s enough to knock Sokka backward, ass on the grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now what?!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m working too hard,” Lee says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka blinks, and then it’s all gone. It’s like the world around him has shifted back to how he knows it as a Marniq. It’s breaking dawn, the sun blossoming over the horizon and its rays polluting the sky with marigold and daffodil hues. Zuko no longer sits next to him, but Lee, yet again. He’s still broken up, but Zuko’s glow’s dimmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee reels towards Sokka and cocks his head, eyes laden with concern. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods, but he’s not sure if he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shouldn’t have expected Lee to remember, yet it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing is, he’s not sure if he’s devastated or relieved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Lee asks. He falls back onto his butt as well, reaching out a hand to wipe the tears off of Sokka’s cheek. Sokka lets him and his heart leaps the minute they make skin-to-skin contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Lee tends to his tears, Sokka’s fingers wrap around his wrist. He lowers his knuckles to his lips and presses kisses against them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay. I’m not the one that said they felt like they were going crazy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee pulls his hand from Sokka’s; warmth blossoms across his face. “It’s silly—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always say that,” Sokka says. “I’ll never think it’s silly. I want to hear what you have to say.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee nods, and nods, and nods until his eyes go out of focus and he’s staring out at space. Sokka pulls him back down to earth by taking his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we walk?” Lee asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stands in response and pulls Lee up like he weighs nothing. He lets go of one hand but keeps the other in his and the two start to wander. Out of the backyard, down the street, stumbling along the roads that they walked down less than a day ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s all these dreams,” Lee tells him as they start to head down a path they hadn’t taken. It veers near some wooded area; Sokka chalks it up to being some land that Lee must’ve liked to walk through when he was younger. “They’ve got me feeling all sorts of weird and...and….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?” Sokka says, pulling him a little closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee stops and Sokka only notices when he’s yanked back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear you’re going to think I’m crazy if I say it—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember when you asked me if I thought that we reincarnated?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka drops his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s right there, Sokka,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the voice says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pull him out.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods numbly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee looks to the moist dirt they’re standing on. It permeates the smell of spring, even though they’re a month into autumn. “These dreams make me feel like I’m the reincarnation of Fire Lord Zuko.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PULL HIM OUT!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Sokka chokes out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s probably because of all of the research, though,” Lee says, shaking his head with a chuckle. He continues to walk along the dirt trail that cuts through the forest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What makes you say that, though?” Sokka asks, catching up with him. Foreboding churns within him; he doesn’t know if it makes him excited or dreadfilled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee sighs, taking a hold of Sokka’s wrist. He pushes some shrubbery out of their way and they pass over a small stream with a hop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These dreams feel like memories. They feel like they’re right there, and that I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>watching them</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but living it. No one else is there but Ambassador Sokka, sometimes Fire Lord Izumi, but....” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee comes to a full stop and yanks Sokka back by the arm again. This time, it hurts a little. Sokka rolls his shoulder in his socket until it no longer aches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I need to visit a fortune teller and see what they say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka wants to cringe—does he </span>
  <em>
    <span>believe</span>
  </em>
  <span> in them? Then again, he can’t say much about mystic business with how much the Spirits have rocked his shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee laughs; Sokka must be making a face. “I’m joking. The dreams will probably go away when our project is over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing for Sokka to say to that; there’s nothing he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> say. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Those aren’t dreams,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, but leaves the ball in Lee’s court.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two continue down the path towards who knows what in silence, side by side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the sun inches its way into the sky, it peeks through the verdant leaves, illuminating the dew that’s collected on the fronds of the palm trees above and the plants lower to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The soil below is soft and springy against their bare feet, but not so saturated that they’ll be trailing tracks of mud on their way back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The air is thick with mist, and Sokka barely catches it in the corner of his eye, but a technicolor butterfly flits past his peripheral. He almost turns to watch it further, but before he can, something flies past his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka lets go of Lee’s hand, head veering the opposite direction he’s looking, but nothing or no one is there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An uneasiness settles in his gut. He tries to keep walking—to take a couple of strides to catch up with Lee—but before he can, someone screams in his left ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PULL HIM OUT.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka flinches, a chill working through his body. He knows it’s just the voice in his head, but it’s loud and intense, demanding him to work harder for Zuko. Sokka tries to turn towards Lee, tries to find him amongst the mist, but he’s stepped out of view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as Sokka knows that he can simply keep walking, it doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> that easy. He barely inches a foot forward and the tips of his toes start to burn. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pull him out!</span>
  </em>
  <span> the voice demands again, right against the shell of his ear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zuko’s right there. You know you have to do this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost inaudibly in the other ear, another voice says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee?” Sokka calls out, unease dripping from his tone. He tries to step forward again, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s right there, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the angry voice says. It breathes against his ear: hot, wet.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keep feeding him. Make him come alive. If you don’t work hard now, it might be lost.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’ll remember in time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the other whispers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enjoy what you have now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PULL HIM OUT!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’ll remember.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka squeezes his eyes shut like it’ll help keep the voices out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a third voice says, and at first, he begs for the Spirits to let up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then he recognizes it—a voice he can put a face to; it’s bearded and wrinkled and holds all of the wisdom this world—old and new—can give.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let Lee be your light</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’ll remember in time,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the other voice echoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, the voices fade into oblivion, and the world around him—the beating wings of birds and the low chirping of insects—returns. He takes a step forward like he hadn’t been trapped there in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever was holding him there has passed and now...now Sokka feels that he can roll his shoulders back. He lifts his head a little higher. It feels as if some weight on his chest has been hoisted off of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes a deep breath and inhales the scents of upturned earth and sea salt. The corners of his lips turn upward, and his heart, which has been wilted and withered with time, lilts with life, </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world around him bursts with color when his eyes open—the green is so much greener, the sun brighter. His chest feels so full, it’s bound to explode and all he wants to do is share it with Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka settles from his high at the thought of his name. The excitement raking its way through him winds down, but that heart of his, pounding against the inside of his ribcage, doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some switch in Sokka must’ve flipped because now he thinks he understands more; he woke up this morning dangling on the thread of hope that Zuko would burst through his cracks and find Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Sokka knows: he has to meet him where he is, even if that means letting the ice melt completely. It’s not about excavating or pulling him out of the frigid waters. It’s about letting him learn and acclimate and come forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All Sokka has to do in the meantime is be there with him, no matter who he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko will be there in time. For now, he needs to take care of and cherish Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee,” Sokka whispers like it’s a sacred word. It tastes different in his mouth and a honey-sweet aftertaste lingers on his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka starts advancing forward, now on his hunt to find him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mist is still thick, but the sun is higher in the sky and beams through the crystalline haze. It gives Sokka a better field of vision, and when he finds a bobbing spec a good several feet in front of him, his heart sings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That magnet that pulled them together must have reactivated because before he realizes it, he’s running. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s grinning so hard that his cheeks hurt and his run goes from a sprint to a full-on barrel. He’s just a few feet away now; at the same time, Sokka realizes just how fast he’s gaining on him, and that if he doesn’t move, he’ll—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee turns around rather than dodges and Sokka runs smack into him, causing them both to collapse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka locks his fingers behind Lee’s head, making sure he doesn’t hit it, but he still cries out in pain when they fall back onto the dirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit!” Sokka says, peering down at Lee. He’s right on top of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you really need me to break your fall?” Lee grumbles, pushing Sokka off of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Sokka kneels and looks over Lee. “Did I break any bones? I’m sorry, I didn’t know that I was going as fast as I was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee huffs, staring up at the canopy of foliage above them before propping himself up on his elbows. He grunts, but it doesn’t seem that he’s far too hurt. “Bumps and bruises, probably. How did you gain that much speed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank the Spirits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you not notice that I was, like, maybe half a mile behind you?” Sokka asks. He stands up and dusts his ass off before offering his hands to Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes them and Sokka pulls him up </span>
  <em>
    <span>carefully</span>
  </em>
  <span>; he’s met with a face of confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Half a mile?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shrugs. “Guesstimate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess I need to hold your hand extra tight so you don’t feel the need to plow me over the next time you get behind.” Lee takes Sokka’s hand into a death grip and starts pulling him further into the forest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you not notice?” Sokka asks, stomping behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was trying to remember where—ah.” Lee lets go of Sokka’s hand and approaches a thicket of vines. He parts them and leans in, only his ass sticking out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka smirks at the sight of it—it’s big and perky and oh what he would do to give it a little squeeze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then his behind disappears, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just push through,” Lee says from beyond the vines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka does just that. He takes handfuls of stems and parts them, and when he steps through, he’s met with something he doesn’t expect: a blue hole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gentle roar of a waterfall fills the air, echoing off of the walls of what contains this beautiful work of nature. It spills down from the rocks above in gushes and into water so blue and clear, Sokka can see little fish dart around in schools. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything around them is lush with life. Vines spill all about, and flowers of red and fuschia speckle the landscape around them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t plan on coming here,” Lee says. He stands just a few feet from Sokka, hands behind his back. “I thought we would walk out of the forest, but then we just kept walking and I remembered—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is gorgeous,” Sokka says, eyes darting around until they land on the prettiest thing he can find in the place: Lee’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stares at him for a moment, nerves working through him when he takes a step closer to Lee. The dread that usually comes with these nerves, however, is absent, and the voice that tells him to wait it out stays silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s just in reach, and when Sokka takes his hands and pulls him close to his chest, the looming guilt is missing. Instead, butterflies flitter in his stomach and his heart beats strong in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka wonders if he can hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let Lee be your light</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh was right about that, at the least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By letting him in, by holding him close and cupping his cheek like he is now, he’s honoring the promise that he made Zuko all of those years ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll come back. With time, those eyes will be filled with recollection. But for now, he can cherish the way they glimmer with glee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Lee asks him now. He wears a smile so big and bright, Sokka mistakes it for a star. He wants to kiss the smile away—his chest feels so light now that guilt doesn’t weigh him down—but he puts distance between them. Not too much, but just enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Sokka says and this time he thinks he means it. “Will you sit with me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee cocks his head, curiosity wavering in his glance, but he lets Sokka guide him to a small shoreline along the pool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two take a seat in the sand, small waves cresting over and onto their feet as they lean back onto their palms. Lee shuffles his feet until sand slips over them. Sokka watches, a fond smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you remembered this,” Sokka says, keeping his eyes on Lee. Lee, on the other hand, is distracted by the waterfall. His gaze is fixed forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am, too. I would’ve remembered it later and beat myself up for not showing you.” Lee chuckles and faces Sokka. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s eyes still gleam with delight and his cheeks are rosy and warm. It stirs adoration—love, maybe—up within Sokka’s chest. He’s so overwhelmed with this warmth that words spill out of his mouth without command.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to ask you something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s head cocks. “Ask me what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka doesn’t even know what, not at first. But then the night in the depths of the train station flashes through his head and the admission of emotions lingers….</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not ready to be with you. I want to be. Eventually, but....” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ll be here when you’re ready. I’m not leaving.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ready?” Sokka asks now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t think he would be, but here he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee sits up straight, gears turning. “Ready?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The butterflies in Sokka’s stomach turn into something else: fireworks. They burst in his tummy as excitement pulsates through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The confusion fades into realization. Lee gasps; a grin spreads across his face so wide, that sunbeam smile of his comes back. “Wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rubs the back of his neck. “I’m ready if you are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he bounds onto Sokka, rolling on top of him with sheer zeal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka takes it—the sand in the hair, the waves rolling over their bodies. And when Lee kisses him, Sokka melts into it right away. His fingers weave between his strands of hair and he juts his chin forward slightly, deepening their embrace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something that stirs within Sokka. Not guilt or remorse or shame; none of that. It’s a feeling he hasn’t tasted in so long, he doesn’t quite recognize it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Lee pulls away after a while, and when Sokka gets a look at his face—those love drunk eyes and sloppy smile, he knows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Happiness burns inside of Sokka’s heart and he feels alive, alive, </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So they did the thing!!!!</p><p>QotC: </p><p>1. What do you think dating Lee will do for Sokka? </p><p>2. What significance does this hold? </p><p>3. Why is Sokka starting to hear things more often?</p><p>Also, look at what Kurisu-80 made for me!!! I'm so beyond thankful for this commission, friend! Thank you!!!</p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>That's all for now! Thank you for the love!</p><p>Don't forget to follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka">Twitter</a>, and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lovelyzukka/">Instagram</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Little Do You Know</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW// Severe bullying</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sokka and Lee spend hours in the blue hole, forgetting about the world outside their little bit of paradise. Everything beyond the walls of the space they’re in seems unimportant—unreal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> real is the softness of Lee’s lips against Sokka’s, and the blistering sun that climbs higher and higher in the sky as the hours roll by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What’s real is Sokka and Lee laying belly up to the foliage, eyes closed and hands joined between each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he had the choice, Sokka would never leave this place, and he really doesn’t feel the need to move until they have to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which will be sooner rather than later, regrettably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee bolts up and kicks some sand back into Sokka’s face. Thankfully, his eyes were closed, but he still feels the crunch of grains between his teeth. He spits it out, wipes his face, and sits up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We never wrote my family a note,” Lee says, scrambling to his feet. “And we left our phones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka grimaces and gets up himself after pushing his glasses back onto his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two wander back through the vines and down the winding path that led them there in the first place. All of the mist that filled the air when they first walked down the trail has dissipated and the sky’s awake; beams of light shine down like spotlights and filtrate through the leaves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking out of the forest is like walking out of another world; Sokka turns around and peers down the path with a frown on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. “When you come back, we can spend all day there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee and Sokka pad down the dirt roads and back to the Hong residence hand in hand. With the sun right above their heads, it makes the dirt hot and almost unbearable to walk on barefoot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Lee’s more accustomed to the heat permeating from the ground, Sokka’s sensitive. He starts off walking flat-footed, each step more of a bounce from foot to foot. But as they get closer to the house, Sokka resorts to walking on his tiptoes. It’s not comfortable, but it’s a lot better than burning the entirety of the bottoms of his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to carry you?” Lee asks just as the Hong Residence comes into view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s large, boxy, and entirely made of slatted maple wood. There are tons of multi-paned windows scattered about and its roof is curved to invite more light into the interior. Lining their property are gates made of bamboo, all except for the mouth of the backyard. It stops there for easy access in and out; Sokka wonders if they had plans for it to be a driveway with how it’s situated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a flat footed step and hisses before he can answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re only a couple of hundred feet away from the back fence, yet Lee doesn’t wait for an answer. He pulls Sokka over and swoops him into his arms. Sokka, nearly dropped on his back, wraps his arms around Lee’s neck with a squeal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee chuckles and the vibrations resonate against Sokka’s chest. He rests his head on Lee’s shoulder instead of trying to fight it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know why I didn’t think of shoes,” Lee says upon reaching the stones. He steps onto one and sighs in relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were in your head and so was I,” Sokka says, still clinging to Lee. “Do the rocks feel good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee doesn’t answer; instead, he sits Sokka down on the stone next to him and the way the back of the house overshadows the stone path has left it frigid. He almost groans in satisfaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you come to Hira’a enough, your feet will get used to it,” Lee tells him; he wears a facetious smile that tells Sokka that it’s a soft demand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s really laying it on thick,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sokka thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he looks to his feet, grinning nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile’s wiped off the minute he gets a good look at his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His toes are busted from trailing through the dirt. There’s some under his nails and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s the hose? We’re going to need to wash our feet off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Lee can answer, the backdoor swings open and slams against the wall. Both Lee and Sokka jump and turn to the wreaker of havoc. Arola stands there, smirk on her face. “You’ll need to bathe out here. You’re covered in sand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the fuck were you?” Sina says, pushing Arola aside. They stomp out onto the stone and up to Sokka, nudging the tip of their black stilleto nail against his sternum. “Lee would never—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee shoves their hand away. “I suggested the walk </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the blue hole. Don’t blame him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always leave a note!” they say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t this time!” Lee says. “It’s fine. I’m here. We’re safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And sunburnt. For fuck’s sake,” Arola says, shifting her weight onto one leg as she crosses her arms. She takes a moment to gauge the men, but her gaze lingers on Sokka and his shirtless torso. Sokka crosses his arms over his chest, so her amber eyes trail back to his face. “If you were going to go to the blue hole, you should’ve thought about packing some sunblock in that fanny pack of yours, Sokka.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, she turns on her flats and tromps back into the house. “They’re back,” she says. “We can all relax now—come in and let them bathe, Sina!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina gives Sokka another onceover, their eyes also lingering a bit when they come across Sokka’s chest. He crosses his arms further and Sina blushes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka notices that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bathe and come back in. We’re going out,” they say, their cool stare snapping to Lee. “The entire family. And we’re paying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sina retreats and slams the door closed, Lee groans and walks past Sokka into the backyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about Sina,” he says. Sokka follows in tow towards the hose in the far corner of the yard, up close to the front of the house. “They’re...not quite used to people being nice to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee continues to turn on the hose and holds it out to run water over Sokka’s feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka, on the other hand, stands there, frozen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People weren’t nice to you?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee tilts his chin up, squinting his eyes to get a good look at Sokka’s face that’s lost in the shadow. “Obsessive fat kid. What do you think?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That leaves a sour taste in Sokka’s mouth. The fact that he was bullied seems so...normal to Lee and that he’s just used to it. And why hadn’t he mentioned that before?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get that look off of your face,” Lee says, eyes turning back to the ground, “and lift your foot so I can rinse it off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate that,” Sokka says bitterly. He leans down and takes the hose from Lee. “I got it, Sunshine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It happened. There’s nothing I can do to take it back—but, yeah. That’s why Sina’s so...prickly. They usually aren’t, but they and Arola have always had me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss having siblings,” Sokka mumbles, shifting to the other foot so he can rinse that off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Lee asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shakes his head, yet the thoughts linger….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders if it would be as bad as it is with Hahn if he had a couple of siblings around. Or if they’d give Sokka that comfort that Lee obviously has. They’d probably be just as strong-willed as Katara was, but he loved that about her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka hands the hose over when he’s finished and leans against the slatted wall in the shade. (Sure enough, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> starting to feel the sunburn.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as Lee finishes up hosing the bottom of his feet, he tilts his chin up to say something to Sokka. He catches a glimpse of who knows what just over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. “You’re just doing this so you can see him shirtless.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka veers around and finds Arola, with an arm full of towels, eyeing him yet again. Embarrassment makes his face heat up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Mom just doesn’t want you to track sand into the house. You need these towels when you come in.” She reels her arm back to throw the towels at them, but Lee must give her a look because she smiles awkwardly, steps up to Sokka, and holds the towels out (all while looking at his chest). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My eyes are up here,” Sokka says, taking the towels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arola, usually made up of smirks, blushes this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My brother’s lucky,” is all she says before turning around to walk back to the house. “You two need to be ready in an hour! Sina’s getting impatient.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> impatient,” Lee mumbles. Sokka catches it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the rush, anyway?” Sokka asks, stripping to his undies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My parents’ anniversary,” he says, handing over the hose. He starts stripping down himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After they finish rinsing off—once the grains of sand in their hair are sparse and they no longer smell like sweat and soil—they go in, take their showers, and get ready for going out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s ready in no time—he pulls out a burgundy button-down and some slacks and shrugs them on without a second thought. Sokka, on the other hand, digs through his suitcase and doesn’t know if he brought anything formal enough for his liking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you tell me that it was their anniversary?” Sokka scrambles through his bottoms. Shorts, shorts, and more shorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t expect you to pack </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> touristy outfits,” Lee says, adjusting one of the buttons on his collars in the mirror, “and didn’t feel the need to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka falls out of his crouch and onto his ass. “That’s, like, a family thing, though. “Maybe I should just stay here. I can find something to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They want you to come,” Lee says, kneeling across from Sokka to help him find </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He holds up one of Sokka’s floral button-downs; small baby blue and pink flowers are speckled across the satin shirt. Lee holds it out for him to take.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That surprises Sokka, winding down that playful—and minorly aggressive—fight in him. He takes the fabric into his hands and runs it between his fingers. It’s smooth, almost slippery, to the touch. It’s nice—Sokka picked it out—but it’s still so luxurious that it almost feels like a false testament as to who he is. He shrugs it on anyway and continues pushing through the suitcase, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hoping</span>
  </em>
  <span> to find some nice shorts somewhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why would Lee’s parents want him there, though? He </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> met them. He guesses they’re just being nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They dig for a few more minutes—pulling out the clothes, folding them and placing them back in the suitcase—and realize that they’re going to have to cut their losses. Sokka’s going to have to wear jorts to an anniversary dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone else is in the living room waiting when they saunter through the sliding doors. Sina and Arola are on the couch, focusing on something on their phone screens. Sho’s watching the forecast—sunny days with a chance of rainfall early tomorrow. Sokka has to look for Ji-Yeong, but she’s standing in front of a mirror near the front door, blotting her lips between some tissue.</span>
</p><p> <span>Naturally, they’re dressed up all nice and appear to be a picture-perfect family—even Sina in their all black ensemble. (That’s the charming thing about the Hong family. They appear oh so mismatched—Sho ready to head to his garden he runs at any moment’s notice, Ji-Yeong prepped for an all day baking spree, Arola ready to hand out flowers and sing about how beautiful life is, and Sina ready to kill—but they all fit in so well together.) Yet, Sokka’s the one that sticks out like a sore thumb. </span></p><p>
  <span>Everything above the torso’s okay. It’s just the stupid—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jorts?” Arola lifts her head from where it’s rested on Sina’s shoulder. She untangles her older sibling’s arm from her shoulder and stands up, disdain written all over her face. She crosses the room like she’s stalking prey and almost takes him by the shoulders when she’s close enough. She stops herself. “Jorts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he looks fine,” Sho says, turning from the TV screen. He gives Sokka a onceover that makes his neck burn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s our job to chastise Lee’s boyfriend, Dad,” Sina says, cold eyes flicking above their phone screen to take in his outfit, too. “You look horrendous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boyfriend?” Sho says with feigned surprise; his eyes give it away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka feels that he should be bothered that they thought they were together this whole time, yet he can’t find himself to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We made it official today,” Lee says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re just being mean,” Ji-Yeong says, fastening the back onto her earrings. “Let Sokka and Lee have a day or so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t have a day or so—Sina and I fly back later tomorrow. We have to see if he can handle it </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Arola says, that signature smirk appearing on her visage. She reaches out, giving a small pat to his freshly shaven cheek. “I’m really glad we were able to be here on your first trip to Hira’a.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, can we just go?!” Lee groans, pulling Sokka into his side. He clings to his upper arm. “I want him to come back and all of you are making him uncomfortable. I didn’t tell him that we were going to go out and that was all he had.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka appreciates that Lee’s worried and all, but honestly, he’s more relieved that Lee’s siblings shoot sly remarks his way, not lighting bolts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s parents, however, seem to carry the same sentiments as him. Ji-Yeong opens the door with an, “All right, everyone out,” and Sho turns off the TV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arola doesn’t let up, though. Her gaze is piercing, almost like she’s trying to read his soul, and it’s enough to let him know that she better not be crossed. All of this time, Sokka thought Sina was the more protective one of the two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not done with you,” she tells him in a sweet voice, giving his other cheek a pat. She twirls on the ball of her foot, her skirt swishing about, and heads out of the front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sky over Hira’a looks like a dry brush painting of magentas and navies. It’s a streaky, beautiful mess and Sokka’s allowed to appreciate it now that he’s not receiving vague threats from Lee’s siblings. Instead, he gets to enjoy the scenery before him, holding Lee’s hand, while navigating their way to wherever they’re eating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That doesn’t last long, sadly. Only a couple of minutes into their walk, Lee starts to spew all sorts of apologies and assurances that his siblings will let up. He only stops when Sokka turns to him and says, “It’s fine. I’m fine. It just comes with the territory.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sibling dynamics are particular when it comes to dating. Even though Sokka knew Aang, he grilled him with hundreds to thousands of questions when he started dating Katara. That, and the teasing is essential. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina and Arola are right about that, and he can’t get mad at them for fulfilling those duties.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The six of them end up in front of a small building made of bamboo with the words “Lan Win’s” illuminated from its face. Sokka peers through its glass doors; the inside is sleek, dark, and far too stuffy for how homey and rooted Hira’a is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk in nonetheless and are seated at a large, velvet-seated booth tucked away in the corner of the restaurant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throughout dinner, Sina and Arola’s chastising comments and harsh jabs are set aside for silence, mostly. Sokka, Ji-Yeong, and Sho exchange pleasant conversation most of the evening—Sokka asks how long have the Hongs been married? They ask the same about Sokka’s parents. (Lee, thankfully, partially knows about the situation and skirts them away from any discussion about Sokka’s family.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation is cordial and informative within the walls of the restaurant. They eat, they celebrate, and they pay the bill. (Sokka chips in—he tried to pay the whole bill, but was met with pushback.) Sokka thinks he’s almost off the hook from Sina and Arola’s relentlessness, but when he takes the step out of the restaurant’s double doors, he’s caught by the scruff of his collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small yelp works its way up his throat—it’s loud enough for Lee to veer around and narrow his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing, Sina?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arola told him we weren’t done with him”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stands there in Sina’s grasp, not afraid, but a tad uncomfortable because with how tight their grasp on the shirt is, it makes it hard to breathe.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee rolls his eyes so hard, Sokka sees nothing but the whites of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” he asks, placing his hands on his hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Arola asks with a laugh that’s almost maniacal. It just about makes Sokka’s skin crawl because it sounds just a tad too much like Azula’s. She steps around from behind Sina and in front of Sokka.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just us and him, Turtleduck,” Sina says, finally letting go of Sokka’s scruff. He takes a deep breath and wrings his neck. “Catch up with the parentals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka turns to Sina and takes a step back to put some space between them. He ends up booty bumping Arola. She squeals, and grabs on his forearm to keep herself from falling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” he asks, shaking her hand off of his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my Agni,” Lee groans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s new boyfriend-sibling etiquette,” Sokka says, flashing an assuring smile in Lee’s direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His hands clench at his sides, brow furrowing with a hint of anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We just started dating,” he tells the siblings lowly, raspily. His voice almost sends a chill through Sokka’s body. “If he comes back to my room and breaks up with me, I won’t talk to either one of you ever—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, whatever,” Arola says. She hooks one arm around Sokka’s and he jumps slightly; if he knew that she wouldn’t sink those pink manicured nails into his forearm, he would try to pull his arm away again. “We’ll be home in an hour and a half. While you’re gone, you should tear down those posters you have of him on your wall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s already red from sunburning, but he turns the shade of a tomato. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was planning on that,” he says icily even though a plume of smoke bursts from his nostrils. “I’ll see you at home, Sokka.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina locks their arm with Sokka’s free one and the two siblings start to walk him in the opposite direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka cranes his neck further and says, “See you later, Sunshine!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in the darkness, Sokka can see a hint of a smile on Lee’s lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three, Sokka wedged tightly between Sina and Arola, walk for quite some time. Past the little shops strung along the main road, across a foot bridge, through a park, and under the shade of a grove filled with gargantuan palm trees. Sokka begins to wonder if they’re going to sacrifice him under the moon or something like that until they reach a beach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waves are calm—Sokka can barely hear them crashing against the shoreline—but it’s not the sea that grabs his attention; the sky, now freckled with millions of stars, is vast, spreading in all directions. It’s breathtaking. Sokka wants to get a full view, but when he tries to turn around, the siblings reinforce their grip on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An hour and a half,” Arola says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just trying to look at the sky,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll get a seat on the patio, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patio…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right ahead of them is a lively little shack. The bass of a loud song thuds against its wooden walls and warmth bursts from the windows in the back. It has a straw roof and looks like it's being held up by the wooden pillars wedged under it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to Xo’s Turtle Crab Shack and Bar,” Sina says, finally releasing Sokka. Arola does the same; he wrings the arm she clinged to. She has a killer grip. “About fifty years ago, some Foggy Swamp Tribesmen set up shop and never left. Best place to get Turtle Crab.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We just ate,” Sokka says, following behind Sina as they make their way to the front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bar,” Arola reminds him. “Really, it’s just a good place to hang out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s so good, why did you have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>drag</span>
  </em>
  <span> me here?” Sokka asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina approaches the front door, but rather than walk right through, they peek their head in. Sokka stops himself before he can run into them. Arola, unfortunately, doesn’t get the memo. She falls back into the sand and lets out a disgruntled, “Oof.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka pulls her back to her feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she says, and while dusting off her ass, answers his question. “I think Lee would actually axe murder us if we lost you and the trip’s kind of...all over the place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it’s fun,” Sina says, walking past them and to a patio...of sorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s “gated” with plywood and you can step right over it. The three sit at a table that wobbles back and forth with the wind, but the wrought iron chairs are stable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A man with a full, groomed, and styled mustache puts three drinks on the table as soon as they take a seat and scurries away before Sokka can thank him. He picks up the glass of clear liquid and gives it a whiff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just water,” Sina tells him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka sets it back on the table, leans back into the chair, and looks at the two siblings. Might as well cut to the chase. “So, I assume that we’re here tonight so you can grill me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, yeah,” Arola says, but she shares a look with Sina before turning those amber eyes back to him. “We were also curious—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you do with our brother?” Sina asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Watching their defenses fall is like watching the walls of Ba Sing Se crumble. When they sat up proud and high browed before, now they let their shoulders hunch forward and their faces rest. For once, Sina’s eyes aren’t frosted over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, grabbing the collar of his shirt to fan himself with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arola shakes her head right away. “No! No, but...but….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee’s different,” Sina finishes for her, shifting in their seat to where one foot is tucked under their ass. “He’s a whole lot bolder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka draws his chin back. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bolder?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not just bolder,” Arola says. “Different.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka huffs. What does </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of this mean? “When was the last time you hung out with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This summer,” Sina says. They furrow their brow and space between the tips of their eyebrows crinkle like Lee’s does. “I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> you did, but it’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Great</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Arola says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay?” Sokka says, crossing his arms. He casts his gaze out at the sea. The moon reflects off of the cresting waves and its mirror image disappears in the seafoam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re just pointing this out because we want to thank you,” Sina says from between what sounds like gritted teeth. Sokka focuses his attention back on them and while there’s reservation that glints in their eyes, it seems that they mean the words they said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re confusing him,” Arola says with a sigh. She, too, leans back in her chair and pulls her feet up onto it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How different are we talking?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arola peers from Sina to Sokka over her knees, brows knitted together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you and Lee ever talked about his school days?” Sina asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shakes his head. “Not much. Little things here and there, but not a whole lot about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina nods stoically. “We might be back a little late, but I think you’d want to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’d be good if you did, probably,” Arola says. “Let you know why Sina constantly looks like they want to kill a man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina sends Arola a death glare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Case in point,” Arola says. “Anyway, we’ve always had to be protective of Lee….”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When Lee was little, he always kept to himself. Even as a toddler, he would sit in the corner of the room and play with his toys, even when his siblings were more than willing to play with him. Not that he was an unhappy kid. Rather, he was just fine being on his own. He didn’t need anyone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sina and Arola always extended out a hand to him, asked him if he wanted to play, but he never wanted to. He’d rather play pretend with his little stuffed polar bear dog named Naga.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“He still has it. You should ask him to show you Naga,” Arola says.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Naga?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sokka thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even when the Hong parents tried to acquaint him with others, he would retreat to a corner and play pretend. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was something the Hongs grew used to. They let Lee do as he wanted and would be there for him if they were ever needed. It was something they found normal. After meals, he would sit and play with the small collection of toys he had at the back of the living room when Sina and Arola would wrestle about. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>However, when Lee went into school, things changed drastically over time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What he did wasn’t “normal” to everyone else. He had to carry his little stuffed Naga everywhere, or else he would cry, and if anyone tried to play with him, he would run away. During carpet time, he would continue to sit in a corner and talk quietly to Naga—the teacher would let him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At first, his peers lived with it. They said nothing of him and learned quickly not to come too close. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That changed when he found something that he was actually passionate about,” Sina says. They’re drawing concentric circles on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think it was because of </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was, but it was because he was loud and borderline obnoxious about it,” Arola answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One day, when Lee was sitting in his usual corner during mat time, Naga wouldn’t talk to him. They had a little tiff back at home and, according to Lee, she wouldn’t talk to him. So, while his little stuffed animal gave him the silent treatment, Lee was focused on other things that he usually wouldn’t be: namely, the bookshelf. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There were hundreds of books settled amongst the wooden slats, but the one that caught his eye was called </span>
  </em>
  <span>Super Southern Water Tribe Alphabet!</span>
  <em>
    <span> For each letter was a famous Southern Water Tribesman and what accomplishments they had.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee thought he found the love of his life in that book,” Arola says with a laugh. She has a fond look in her eyes. “He constantly talked to us about Ambassador Sokka. We thought that we would have a little brother that would finally play with us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s neck warms up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t just that,” Sina says. “He seemed content with being by himself, but he finally had a reason to reach out to other people and try to connect with them. He wanted to spread what made him happy with others.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People weren’t awful about it at first. Most of his peers were surprised that he talked, but when the phenomena of a talking Lee settled, his classmates started talking about him behind his back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had one of his peers’ siblings in my class and they started asking me about it,” Sina says, poison laced in their tone. “Asked me if he was that annoying at home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was the start of the bullying. Snide remarks. Sina and Arola did their best to keep Lee from it. During recess, if they could, they would hang out with him. Whether he wanted to play pretend that they lived in the Southern Water Tribe, or if he just wanted to be left alone with Naga, they would keep an eye on him and make sure nothing could touch him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They couldn’t protect him forever. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lee’s first day of second grade was a day that everyone in his household could remember. He went to school with a wide, gapped smile and a sparkle in his eyes. He was always giddy to go to school, and that past summer, he had made a friend that would act out different Southern Water Tribe stories with him. While the playdates went from daily to incredibly sparse, he was excited to see his friend at school. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was another breakthrough,” Arola says. Her eyes are lost, settled far away from here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foreboding settles in Sokka’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gossip doesn’t just stop, but we thought he had another defender,” Sina says bitterly. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The sun was beating down relentlessly on the recess courtyard—this was a big issue to Lee. Naga’s igloo—made of sand</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>was melting and he had to keep Naga cold. He had asked his new friend, who seemed a lot less interested than usual, to help.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“He never told us what he said,” Sina says. They, too, are lost. They’re merely telling the story, allowing Arola to fill in the blanks. “I think we were all a little...tired of his obsession. He tried to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> into it, and we let him have that because it made him light up. But whatever he said to Lee knocked the spirit out of him. He came home that day and the light was out of his eyes. It was like he just...existed, but he wasn’t living anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He turned grey,” Arola says, her voice drifting off with the wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lee stopped talking. He stopped bringing Naga to school. He stopped being himself. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The bullying continued to get worse, even as he put himself away and conformed. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Remarks turned to taunts.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Taunts turned to Kick Me signs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kick Me signs turned to fists.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka doesn’t realize he’s crying until Arola hands him a paper napkin. His cheeks suddenly feel wet and he takes it from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Instead of fighting for himself, we fought for him,” Arola says. “He didn’t know how to, so Sina and I would rough up the abusers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We got in so much trouble,” Sina mutters mindlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did no one else do anything about it?” Sokka asks, his voice wavering with anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arola shakes her head. “Justice is never served in the walls of a school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long did it last?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too long,” Sina replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And he was like that until...until </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina rolls their eyes. “Give us a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> credit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The bullying dropped when Lee finally went into high school. In the blink of an eye, children became teenagers and inherited completely different personalities than the ones they had in the eighth grade. While Sina and Arola were no longer tasked with keeping Lee from falling off the edge, they were introduced with a new challenge: how did they open him up?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even the mass migration to teenage-dom didn’t open him back up. He remained to himself, never talking, avoiding being an inconvenience to others.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know those paintings on his walls?” Arola asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods, sniffing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The painting of the southern lights is what finally opened him up again. At least, to us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait. You—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arola smiles softly. “I went to college for art.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>The project was composed by all of the Hongs</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>they called it “Operation Blossom.” They hoped that by showing interest in what Lee loved, they would be able to, at least, see bits and pieces of that colorful boy they knew return. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Arola did the line art, Lee painted the base, and she finished with the shadows and highlights.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It went according to plan,” Arola says, a smile on her face. “While we painted, he would tell me all sorts of things he learned about the Water Tribes. It was the first time I saw him smile in ages.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All we had to do was meet him where he was. Like we hoped, he blossomed,” Sina says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air begins to feel a lot less heavy now, like the humidity’s let up. Sokka sits up a little straighter, leaning in to know more. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>After the painting was complete, Lee let people into his life. Mostly, his family. He and his dad helped tend to the turtleducks Lee found and they made the pond together. Lee, who had never learned to control his fire, was nearly a master at the end of his sophomore year of high school with his mother’s help. Sina taught him the way of dao swords.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was so full of life and love and it was good to have that again, but he was still shy,” Arola says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Until you,” Sina gives Sokka a onceover that’s a little more playful than usual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee never bickered with us. Not much, anyway. He’s got an attitude now,” Sina says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arola snorts. “And he was one of those people that used to pull you aside to comfort you after being teased. He stood up for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rubs the back of his neck. “He stands up for a lot of things….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?” Sina says. “Different.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like we said, this is not a bad thing,” Arola says. “He would’ve never stood up for things before, but now he feels that he has a reason to fight, and tease, and be feisty, I guess. He has a reason to be who he was all along, but kept hidden from us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a big </span>
  <em>
    <span>but</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I need to establish, though,” Sina says. Their eyes ice over again, face straight, angled, and deadpan. “While you bring out the best of him, I think you can understand that we don’t want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> see him suffer like that again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Sokka says, confused as to where this is going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you understand that we have our reservations—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can fight for himself,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t want to have to see that demonstrated,” Arola says, much like her sibling, shifting back to something a little more guarded. “We believe you—he told us about your eyebrow—but….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t hurt him,” Sina says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some sense of anger rouses in Sokka. They think he would hurt Lee? Did they not see him </span>
  <em>
    <span>cry</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or clench his fists, or seethe at the announcement of injustice?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I hurt him?” Sokka asks, maybe a little too defensively. “I lo—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina blanches, knowing what he was going to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They and Arola share a shocked glance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Arola says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s throat constricts and his entire body feels like it’s been launched onto the sun. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve said too much</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He unbuttons a couple of the buttons on his shirt. “Nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were going to say that you love him,” Arola says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I stopped myself,” Sokka snips. He picks up his water and starts gulping it down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> said it,” Sina says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka slams the empty glass down on the table; the other glasses of water topple over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to love him,” he says. “Someone like Lee doesn’t just come into your life and walk out of it. I don’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> want</span>
  </em>
  <span> him to, ever. It may be too soon to say that I love him, but I can say this—I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And I will fight for him now and then. I can’t ask for your trust, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> want him to feel that pain that he felt ever again. I’ll do whatever I can to keep that from happening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arola nods, the look in her eyes resolute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sina, on the other hand, wears the face of conflict. Sokka can see in their eyes that they want to give him that, but apprehension works its way into their body language. They clam up, and their lips are set to a permanent pout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, they bow their head in defeat but mutter an oh-so-familiar phrase. “Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> hurt him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door to Lee’s room is tinged with warmth from the overhead light, so Sokka assumes he’s still up when they get back. They weren’t out too late, but long enough to where the Hong parents have already turned in for the night. Sokka knows that Lee, sometimes, will lay in bed for hours on his phone. But when he slides the door open, he finds him lumped under the bedsheets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee?” Sokka says. He doesn’t stir.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sight of it makes Sokka fond. He pads around the room, making sure to be quiet so he won’t wake him up, and gets ready for bed. Contacts out, glasses on, teeth brushed, and into his sweatpants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Climbing into bed is a stunt. Lee likes to sleep near the door, so Sokka has to slither around him in order to get under the covers, but once he is, he’s nice and toasty. He takes off his glasses and places them on the window sill before rolling onto his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moonbeam peeks through the slats in the blinds and directly onto Lee’s face, illuminating its hills and valleys. Again, nothing but peace settles on his features, but the stories Sokka was told only hours before resurface as he takes in his beauty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why didn’t Lee let Sokka know those things? When they talked about their lives when they first met, it seemed that Lee had no qualms. He put it as “misunderstood,” but he was severely bullied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s hardly the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking about it rouses sorrow throughout him. Tears, again, well up in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Lee he has now is a fighter, and he’s so glad for that. He’s so glad he had Arola and Sina to take care of him, but his heavy heart weighs him down nevertheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka thought this life was easy on him. Maybe it’s a little better now—hopefully Sokka helps—but at one point or another, he was in pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he can help it, Lee will never have to know that feeling again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka starts by pulling Lee into his arms and tangling his legs with his. Lee hums quietly, stirring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was longer than’uh hour-an-uh-half,” Lee slurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka presses a soft kiss to his temple, pulling him in closer. “Rest, Sunshine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So Lee didn't always have an easy life :( </p><p>QotC:</p><p>1. How do you think Lee's past defines him as a person now?</p><p>2. How do you think this affects Sokka's view on Lee?</p><p>Sorry for the late update! Long day. </p><p>Don't forget to follow me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka">Twitter</a>, and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lovelyzukka/">Instagram</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Homecoming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The rest of the weekend drifts away with the breeze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sokka awoke the next day, he was slapped in the face with an itinerary of different walking trails they needed to hit at different times. The sun had yet to blossom over the horizon, and when Sokka read it the first time, Lee excused it as nothing more than an early morning hike. The first time listed on the paper was 5:30 am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the two men spent the day tromping around the natural landscape of Hira’a, taking in the blues of the sky and the lush greens of the flora around them. Every once in a while, they would find a good place to sit and talk, usually on top of hills that allowed them to look out to sea. They would talk about everything. About nothing. About all in between. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, when the sun threatened to disappear behind the horizon, Sokka and Lee trailed their way back home, laughing and smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While they did spend some time to sit down and just talk, Sokka noticed that if he tried to mention Lee’s childhood, he would gloss over certain things. Namely, the fact that he was bullied in the first place. He brushed it off as being “misunderstood,” or “teased.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee didn’t mention the bruises, or the mutism, or the losing himself….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka figured, at the end of the day, it was something that Lee would tell him when he was ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four of them sat down for dinner that night after Lee’s parents returned from dropping Sina and Arola off at the ferry, played a board game together, and then retired to their rooms to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today, they had to say goodbye to the sunny streets of Hira’a and fly back to Republic City. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sho and Ji-Yeong walked with the boys to the ferry, and Sokka was bestowed with hugs from both parents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving them was like leaving paradise, a safe haven, or maybe even a home. As the Hongs waved their goodbyes and the ferry parted from the dock, Sokka felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three days in Hira’a and Sokka learned so much about himself, Lee, his family….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once back in Republic City, the hustle and bustle of things would keep him from reflecting on that. Lee and Sokka would have to go back to their busy lives, having to find inconvenient times to see each other outside of school work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mundane ways of student life would creep back in and they’d have to leave everything else behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, except for the fact that they’re now together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flight back was more lively than before. Since they could go home at a decent time rather than duck out at ass o’clock, they spent the entire trip talking. It was mostly about the project, discussing what they need to do now that they couldn’t ignore their responsibilities anymore, but as the plane lands, their conversation moves on to the Spirit World. Sokka mentioned to Lee that their little blue hole reminded him of it in some ways, and he asked what it was like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they go through customs, Sokka tells him all about the too-blue sky, the trees that look like they’ve been drawn by toddlers, the Spirits themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someday, I’ll take you there,” Sokka tells him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Their conversation only comes to an abrupt end when they stumble upon the exit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the glass panes, they should see a giant parking garage and Satos strewn across the street, ready to take people home. Instead, hoards of people with big, expensive cameras stand, waiting for them to come out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s heart stops at the sight, a stroke of anger slashing through him. He knew he couldn’t run away forever, but it was nice to pretend that he was normal for a while. He can’t quite do that anymore now that they’re back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are so many,” Lee says. His eyes are round and wide with awe. “I didn’t know that many existed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka chortles, even as his hands clench at his sides. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> exit that way. We’ll get crushed. Do you have the Warriors’ numbers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah—oof. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sokka</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka grabs him by the wrist and drags him to the exit he uses when the family goes on government trips. It’s in an undisclosed area and they </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>leave scot-free. Sokka’s hoping it’ll be the same this time around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call Imula,” Sokka says, looking around to make sure no one’s watching the pair traipse towards their escape. The travelers they pass standing about on their phones or rushing to get to their own destination. “Solan’s usually the one driving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they head towards the other exit, Sokka grapples with the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> outed them—probably someone on the plane who wanted to make some cash. The very thought makes him sick to his stomach, and now knowing what Lee had to go through in school….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Sokka sees </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad comment about Lee, which he knows he will, he will single-handedly take care of the editor who published it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka sneaks a peek of Lee, hoping to quell some of the anger brewing up in him. He’s talking to Imula. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re already there,” Lee tells him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods and lets his hand slip from his wrist. He entwines their fingers and pushes through the double doors and into the undisclosed area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome back, you two,” Imula says the moment they step out of the airport’s doors. The area is its own cement garage, meant to keep any stragglers from stumbling across it. It’s large and gray and boring and holds a single Sato. It sits just behind Imula now, purring with life and ready to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee tries to pull his hand from Sokka’s now that they’re in front of Imula, but Sokka holds it tighter and turns to him, head cocked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pink washes over Lee’s cheeks. “I was just—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t leave you behind in Hira’a, Sunshine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee smiles and tucks himself under Sokka’s arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll let you two do...that,” Imula says, grabbing the handle of Sokka’s suitcase. “But we should go sooner rather than later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do what?” Lee asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Imula says, waving her hand at the two of them. “That...</span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> couply thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka glances down at Lee and Lee smirks back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes Sokka’s heart thud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re official, now,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula deadpans and yanks the backpacks from them. “Wow. Shocker. Get in the Sato when you’re done making goo-goo eyes at each other.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think she knew,” Lee says when she rounds the Sato to shove their things into the trunk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh, really?” Sokka says. He gives Lee’s hand one more squeeze before pulling away; the two head to the Sato and climb into the backseat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should’ve known to come back here,” Solan says the moment Sokka buckles himself in. He catches a glint of her hazel eyes in the rearview mirror and redirects his gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was having too good of a time pretending to be normal that I forgot I wasn’t,” Sokka says sardonically. “My mistake.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Sato takes off once Imula’s hopped in and buckled up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Republic City’s sky is a cerulean blue dappled with tufts of fluffy clouds. While it’s lovely, it’s nothing like the Hira’a skies. (Look at Sokka, comparing the two—he knows he will for a while.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not that he suddenly hates the place—Sokka grew up here and always felt like it was where he needed to be. (Probably because, deep in his gut, he knew he’d find Lee here.) But he hates the expectation placed on him. Even though he doesn’t conform to it, it’s annoying to have the constant reminder that he’s supposed to act a certain way. In Hira’a, he was Sokka. He was free. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he’s Sokka Marniq, First Son of the United Republic of Nations. He can paint the town and hold hands with who he wants, but everything’s in public view, under a microscope, and now that Lee’s right next to him….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s slumped in front of the window, nose practically pressed to the glass as he stares out at the rippling bay just past the pane. Does Lee know just how ruthless and cruel the paparazzi are? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as Sokka knows he can take care of himself, he doesn’t want them to steal that light from Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s the sun; Sokka doesn’t want to witness his eclipse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all too soon when they approach his dorms and as the Sato comes to a rolling stop, Sokka buckles out to help Lee with his things. All three of the others look at him at the sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He brought a backpack,” Imula says. “He’s a big boy, I think he can handle it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s sweet,” Lee says, a hint of defense in his tone, but when he turns to Sokka, he wears a look that tells him that he agrees with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> allowed to walk my boyfriend to the door?” Sokka asks. “Isn’t that...what, chivalrous?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re in the honeymoon stage,” Solan says. “Let them have that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s not like her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sokka thinks. It’s usually the other way around with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes it off and gets out of the Sato, retrieving the backpack for Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two walk up to the doors of the dormitory together, steps lingering as they get closer to having to part ways. They reach the double doors too soon, but they turn to each other; Sokka holds out his bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish we didn’t have to leave,” Sokka says, notes of dread that come from going home rousing within him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Lee says with a sigh. He takes the backpack and slings it over his shoulder. “There are so many other places I wish I could’ve shown you...when I was little, I used to go out by myself and find these…like, gorgeous waterfalls and streams. Next time, I’ll show you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Next time</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Sokka smiles at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t wait to see them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee bounces a little on his toes, an overwhelming happiness rushing over him—Sokka can only tell by the way his eyes light up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sight makes him giddy, too—his heart thrums a steady beat in his chest as Lee throws his arms around Sokka’s neck and Sokka holds him around his waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka presses a sturdy kiss to his lips; it’s nothing unchaste, but it’s not rigid, either. Lee just as easily melts into him as he had any time they kissed in the past few days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love that we can do that now,” Lee mutters when he pulls away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka!” Imula snaps from the curve. “Paps!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words make Sokka recoil and where there was happiness, it vanishes in the blink of an eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s too much space between them, Sokka notices; Lee’s out of arm’s reach. He stands across from Sokka, trying to hide the dejection, but Sokka knows the visage all too well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sunshine,” Sokka says. “I didn’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go to yours after work tomorrow,” Lee says, pulling the front door open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Text me when you get home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee walks through the doors, down the hall, and into the elevator, which he disappears into seconds later; Sokka stands there alone, staring through the glass doors. Where his heart was full only seconds ago, it’s now deflated, and unease settles in his gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka walks back to the Sato, head hanging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not that he meant to pull away. Not like that, at least. But the paparazzi….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What they’d do to Lee….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How on the Spirits’ green earth did you already mess it up?” Imula asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka buckles up before he answers. “He thinks I don’t want to be seen with him….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he say that?” Solan says, taking off down the road. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m assuming,” Sokka mumbles, picking at the peeled-up leather around the door handle. “I want to be seen with him. I don’t care. It’s just the stupid fucking paparazzi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure he knows that they come with the territory,” Imula says, reeling around in her seat. “You don’t need to protect him. It seems like he can cover his own ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka huffs. He knows she’s right, but the </span>
  <em>
    <span>what ifs</span>
  </em>
  <span> are too much for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the car inches closer to the Green House, Sokka stares out the window mindlessly. He’s starting to feel nauseous and the need to puke mounts in his esophagus. Not that he actually will, but the very thought of walking through the backdoor….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka can already imagine it. Hahn Sr. rushing at him. Kama trying to hold him back. Sokka having to drop all his shit to defend himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That probably won’t happen. Hahn will probably go on with the silent treatment, but with him, Sokka always imagines the worst-case scenario to avoid surprises. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’ll all happen too soon, Sokka knows. Going home. Facing Agni knows what consequences. But there’s no reason for him to make a pit stop anywhere. No place to stall the issue. Nowhere—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Solan, pit stop,” Sokka says just as the Sato crosses the Silk Road Bridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck,” Imula says. “Are you gonna puke?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka finds her staring at him through the rearview mirror. He must be some hue of green because panic flashes across what he can see of her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I need to go to the Spirit World,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually, Imula and Solan would tease him for that, but for once, they don’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have to go home eventually,” Solan says, more as a soft reminder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want us to stay in the house with you, we will,” Imula adds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it that bad?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of the Warriors says anything. The nervous sweat on the back of Sokka’s neck sends a chill up his spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is my mom safe?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s been sleeping in your room,” Solan says. “We’ve been keeping tabs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Sokka should go back….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before he can suggest it, they’re already pulling up to the forest around the Portal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be quick,” Sokka says to the Warriors. “I just need to tell Iroh some things.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those last words bring a little bounce back into the Warriors. A hint of judgment flickers in their eyes, and while it’s nice to see, he still feels the defensiveness in him bubble up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to meet him? I’d be perfectly happy to bring you to his place,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula and Solan glance at each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not today,” they say in accidental unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka slips out of the Sato and through the trees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The foliage above is just starting to transform from its verdant, vibrant hues. Tinges of rust and tangerine intermix with the greenery, but Sokka doesn’t have much time to ponder the wonders of nature. He needs to pop in on Iroh, tell him what’s up—though, he probably knows—and leave so he can make sure his mom’s okay. He tromps through the fallen foliage, the dead leaves crunching until he passes through the Portal. The grass under his feet is soft and so green, it’s almost hard to look at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Per usual, Iroh’s at his table just outside his home. He sits at the table alone, however, and it’s empty: all except for two mugs and a teapot between them. Iroh’s already seated, awaiting  Sokka, and when he’s close enough, he turns his attention to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems that Hira’a’s taken care of you,” Iroh says with a smile. “You’re glowing. Will you sit down with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka does, even though he promised not to be gone for too long. Iroh pours Sokka a cup of tea as he gets comfortable on the wooden stool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t stay  too long,” Sokka tells him, “but I did want to tell you something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh raises his white brows and takes a sip from his cup. Sokka does the same, then continues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s starting to remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile slips off of Iroh’s face and he lowers his cup. “Is he?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods, cradling the cup in his hands. The Spirit World isn’t cold—it isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, temperature-wise—but it’s nice to feel a little bit of warmth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think he’s metamorphosing,” Sokka says. “He remembered the Blue Spirit mask, but then the next morning, he thought it was a dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh says nothing, and Sokka’s afraid to  look at him. He knows what he’s going to say already. But he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say that anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is your plan, then?” Iroh says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need to make him remember anymore,” Sokka says, lifting his gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh sits across from him, warily sipping from his cup. It’s like he’s expecting Sokka to say more, so he does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When he thought it was just a dream, I thought I needed to keep going, pull him out, but...but I realized. Lee will remember with time. And you said to let him be my light, so...I gave in. I asked him to be my boyfriend. He makes me happy—Lee does. And I stopped feeling guilty about feeling that way about him. He’ll remember eventually, so I might as well allow us to be happy together until he does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever Sokka says must not be the right answer. Iroh gives a subtle shake of the head and turns his eyes to the wooden table. “How do you expect yourself to find happiness when you’re holding out for something you’re not guaranteed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was remembering, Iroh. I could tell. He knows who he is and he’ll remember eventually. He has to,” Sokka says, his voice thick with defensiveness. “He’ll remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Iroh shakes his head, and as much as Sokka hates it, he can feel his blood begin to boil. He doesn’t want to be mad at Iroh, yet….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, Iroh?” Sokka asks, biting back on a snap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve asked you this before, but what if he doesn’t remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question still hurts just as much as the last time, if not more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last time, Sokka hadn’t met Lee yet. He was still curious as to who Zuko would be—man, woman, nonbinary? Before, anything could happen. Anyone could be him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, it’s been narrowed down to one person—a man his age, working directly with him, and from the same family this started with. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What are the odds?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Not only that, but Sokka </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lee. He knows who he is now, who he was before….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But who would Lee be to Sokka if he wasn’t Zuko?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lee’s voice echoes in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because you make me happy when no one else can</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka told him that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka meant that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But would he mean that if Zuko didn’t live somewhere in Lee?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka emits a sob he didn’t know had wracked up his throat, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should be happy,” Sokka cries, standing abruptly from the table. “I should be happy that I’m in a relationship. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Iroh, this only makes me feel guilty!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iroh, too, looks saddened. His usually vibrant eyes weigh heavy with remorse. “You should meditate on why that’s so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka knows he should, but he’ll end up shoving those thoughts back until he’s forced to think about them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to go,” Sokka mumbles. “Check up on my mom.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think about it, Sokka,” Iroh says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka doesn’t answer. He’s already several feet away and doesn’t want to hear it anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened, kid?” Solan asks, minute alarm flashing in her eyes when they make eye contact through the rearview mirror. He quickly looks away and buckles himself in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t understand,” Sokka says thickly, prickling with nerves. He hugs his knees to his chest and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to go home like this—such a mess. What will his dad say to that? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stifles a sob and buries his face into the tops of his knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the same time, the Sato lurches forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka, do you want to get some ice cream?” Imula asks nicely. “We can pick some up before we go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shakes his head and hugs his knees tighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the only thing that can give him comfort. Lee’s currently upset at him and Iroh’s been especially shit at giving him any sense of safety lately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he has is himself and even he can’t protect himself from these thoughts, these feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing he can do is go numb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s exactly what he tries to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the drive home, Sokka leans against the window and zones out, trying to do what he can to just...not think. At first, it’s hard. There are so many things he needs to think about. Figuring out what to text Lee when he gets home. What to do when he comes face to face with his father. How to ignore Iroh’s insistence that Lee won’t remember, and that he’ll never be happy clinging onto the fact that he will. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He will</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then the clear day goes overcast, and rain spills from the clouds overhead. He watches the rain collect in the divots between the cobblestones and the air grow thick with fog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the Sato rolls past the gates and into the Green House backyard, Sokka fades back to existing, not...</span>
  <em>
    <span>living</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He feels mechanical—get out of the Sato, grab his things from the back, let his legs carry him to the backdoor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s yanked open before he can even reach it, and sure enough, he’s met with Hahn Sr., his face red with anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> you!” he bellows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stares at him blankly. “I thought you weren’t talking to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> you blatantly defy me like this?!” Hahn continues, spittle flying from his mouth. Sokka takes a step back so he won’t be in the splash zone and ends up trodding over the Warriors’ feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he mutters to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn continues. “The summit was everything you needed, and you defied me to stay on some shabby island—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>shabby</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sokka snaps, vexation stirring in his chest, even through the numbness. “That vacation was everything I needed. And Hira’a’s gorgeous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn Sr. pinches the bridge of his nose and growls. “Office. We’re talking about this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, he’s not,” a voice from behind Hahn says. Sokka peers over his shoulder and finds his mom jogging up behind Hahn, her eyes wide and tired all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Hahn says. “He’s my son, too, Kama.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’m going to be in there,” she says, shooting a cool glare at him. But then, she looks at Sokka and pushes past Hahn to give him a hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes Sokka by surprise. It’s warm and tight, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That, too, melts some of the numbness away. He wraps his arms around her and breathes her in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, mom,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, my love.” She pulls away and rests a hand on his cheek. “Let’s get out of the rain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And into my office,” Hahn barks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s mom is ready to talk back, but Sokka squeezes her arm and shakes his head. There are some times he needs to concede, and going into his office won’t be the end of the world. (Hopefully.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The family (and the Warriors) follow Hahn into the house and start traipsing down the hall to his office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was it?” Kama asks them while they walk along. She latches his arm with hers and smiles up at him. Still, she looks so tired and some sense of guilt whirs within him. Her skin looks gray, too. “You tan beautifully. Look at you, you’re glowing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka peers down at the cream carpet they’re walking on. “It was a lot of fun. I can’t wait to go back. Lee showed me this little blue hole and we stayed there all day...also. Uh. We’re….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mom pulls him a little closer and gives him a squeeze, showing she catches his drift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need for the Warriors,” Hahn Sr. says upon throwing his office door open. “Imula, Solan. Stand by.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s illegal to go against direct orders, so Solan gives Sokka a sorry gaze before stepping back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula doesn’t. She stands there, contempt directed at Hahn. Her amber eyes glow like the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Imula?” Hahn says harshly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is our duty to protect Sokka,” Imula says. Solan grabs onto her wrist and tries to pull her back. She shakes it free. “I will stand by my duty, even if that means protecting him from you. I don’t care if I get arrested.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Hahn asks, his voice low and gravely. He takes a step forward and Sokka, acting before he can think, steps in front of her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula in one fluid motion spins the two of them around to where they’ve taken each other’s place. Sokka and Solan stare at each other with wide eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you disobeying direct orders?” Hahn asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swore to protect the First Son, Mr. President, when faced with imminent danger. So, if that includes you, so be it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka veers around and is met with a sight he’s never seen before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula, out of the two Warriors, has always been the goofier one. She loved to tease Sokka and tie his shoelaces together. (Not actually, but she did used to play pranks on him to make him smile.) She always had a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, a smile broad and pearly, and the air of a person who never quite grew up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not who he sees standing there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula’s eyes burn, her expression fierce and statuesque with how it won’t budge. Even as Hahn stares her down, she stands erect, shoulders rolled back and feet together. She doesn’t permeate nervousness or fear; only her eyes give the sheer anger away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Imula, hand over your fan,” Hahn says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s heart drops. He knows he complains about the Kyoshi Warriors and that they have to follow him all over the place. He really wishes they </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but the least he could have is Imula and Solan. The thought of not having her wisecracking jokes to balance out Solan’s mild severity makes his stomach lurch, and when she takes her fan off her hip—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t fire her,” Sokka speaks up. He pushes Imula aside—back towards Solan and stands in front of Hahn. “Please don’t fire her.’’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Technically speaking, I should fire both of them,” Hahn says, nodding to the women behind him. Sokka’s hands ball up into fists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>How about this</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Sokka’s mom finally says, now putting herself in between Sokka and Hahn. She uses one hand to push Hahn into his stupid office and the other to rest on Sokka’s shoulder. “Solan, Imula, stand out here. We three will go into the office and we’ll keep the door open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to hurt Hahn!” Hahn Sr. Says, his voice resonating out into the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a track record,” Sokka says, sauntering into the room. There’s only one chair this time and it’s pressed against the back wall where all of the bookshelves are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In what way?” Hahn sneers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Sokka can talk, his mother pushes him back towards the chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you doing?” Sokka asks. He collapses back into the chair and raises a brow up at his mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trying to get you out of whatever ridiculous deal he has conjured up,” she mumbles. “Please just let me handle it, my love.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as he’d love for his mom to be able to kiss the booboos away, she’s too little too late, even if she tries. Sokka only has to look over her shoulder to find the burning abhorrence that’s tossed in their direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, it was only a month or two ago that his mom came around. Who’s to say she won’t be whipped back up?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka huffs, and if he were a fire bender, he would be breathing flames right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Hahn. What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our son’s a man. He should be talking to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s tired of your constant chastising.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me, Hahn,” Hahn Sr. says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shoots a glare at Hahn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You went to an island on your own without any secret service detail whatsoever. Not only did you put yourself in danger, but your detail was complicit. They went against their direct orders. To protect you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you get out of this?” Sokka barks. He stands from his chair and brushes past his mom. She grabs his arm, but her fingers feel ghostly—hardly there. He stomps up to Hahn’s desk and leans against it. Some sick sense of satisfaction coils up in him seeing Hahn below him as he sits, and a smirk on his face accompanies that feeling. “What do you get out of making your family miserable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Sokka’s not mistaken, a bead of sweat is collecting along the bulging vein on Hahn’s temple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no intent to make my family miserable, but we are responsible for these Nations and there are examples to set.” Hahn swallows hard and pushes himself out of his desk so he can stand above Sokka. “Your Warriors, deliberately or not, put you in harm’s way, and the responsible thing to do is have them step down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka knows this game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vicious back and forth, and while Sokka chastises people for falling into his hands, he knows he’s about to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s that, or the Warriors’ jobs are on the line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka closes his eyes and sighs. “What’s the ‘but?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are many that run through his head, but the one that catches pulls at his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn doesn’t like Lee. What if—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s another summit in the Fire Nation. Similar type, different keynote speakers,” Hahn says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait. Sokka can either go to the summit or the Warriors get fired? Sokka stands up straight, pleasantly—for lack of a better word—surprised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When is it?” Sokka asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the summit’s the same time that Sokka and Lee plan on heading to the Fire Nation, that would work out perfectly. They’re doing their fieldwork between semesters and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The weekend before finals.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, maaaan,” Sokka groans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the summit’s made for </span>
  <em>
    <span>young</span>
  </em>
  <span> leaders, who thought it would be a good idea to plan it </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would rather the Warriors be fired?” Hahn asks, a hint of surprise in his tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No—no! No, it’s fine, I’ll go,” Sokka says. “I just...why </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hahn, in a twist of events, drops the furrowed brows and </span>
  <em>
    <span>important man</span>
  </em>
  <span> facade and shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s settled, then,” he says, taking a seat back in his plush sealskin chair. “I already discussed this with the Fire Lord and she graciously opened a guest room to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That doesn’t sit right with Sokka, that he talked to them and all, but...better than being alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The idea of inviting Lee crosses his mind, but that would lead to awkward estranged family interactions….)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka and his mother leave the office after a couple more minutes, and all Sokka can be is shocked by how that went down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can try to talk him out of it,” his mom says, clicking his office door closed behind them. “You don’t have to go if—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. It’s...did that really happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” Imula asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As mother and son march down the hallway and to the back of the Green House, the Warriors follow in tow. Sokka can feel the nervous energy exuding from Solan thickening the air around them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something weird,” Sokka answers, still trying to wrap his head around what </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They only come to a stop when they reach the stair banister; when Sokka gets a good look at the Warriors, a sense of guilt rustles up within him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he did—flying to Hira’a without them—</span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> put their jobs on the line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I did that to you,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Solan, who is practically trembling with nerves now, raises a brow. Imula gives him a stony-faced glance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did what?” she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we fired?” Solan asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka shakes his head and she lets out a long, drawn-out sigh of relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula lets her shoulders roll forward and sighs, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to go to a summit, though. He’s probably going to make you come with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take it,” Solan says, throwing her arms back and resting her palms against the back of her head. She paces back and forth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Imula says. She rests a hand on Sokka’s arm and gives it a squeeze. “Your suitcase is by the backdoor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s mom dismisses herself from the small group and goes to grab—Sokka assumes—his suitcase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to go take Solan somewhere to unwind a little,” Imula continues. “If you’re still feeling...meh and need ice cream later, let me know. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka nods. “Sounds good. I’m sorry my dad’s a piece of shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula doesn’t reply. Not right away. Her eyes go soft first. Then, she takes him into a constricting hug. It makes Sokka sputter, but he gives her a pat on the shoulder nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka,” she tells him in his ear. “You’re like a little brother to me. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> fight for you, even if it gets me in trouble.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka goes limp in her arms, smacked in the face with that information. She gives him a kiss on the side of his head and pulls away. “Get some rest, okay? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> tired.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imula approaches a still pacing Solan and wraps her arm around her waist. It’s like watching butter melt. Solan throws her arm around Imula’s shoulder and the two walk out of the house, joined at the hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few minutes, Sokka’s alone. His mother’s in his room, and his father, surely, is tucked into his office for the next several hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in his solitude, he remains stunned by what Imula said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s like a brother to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s compared them to family before, sure, but….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s different hearing it from her mouth. She gets paid to protect him, but it runs so much deeper….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sokka?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka lifts his head and finds his mother on the banister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” she asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That, he doesn’t know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trailing up the stairs and down the hall, Sokka walks with his mother side by side; when he steps through his bedroom door, he’s attacked with something else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small dragon flies at his face. Sokka catches Druk before he can accidentally maul his mug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He missed you a lot,” Kama tells him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka cradles Druk in his palms and the little dragon practically smiles at him. His eyes are wide and inky, and he flitters up to Sokka’s face and bumps his little snout against the tip of Sokka’s nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile sneaks onto his face. “I missed you too, little guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I unpacked your things. Your bed’s made...are you hungry?” Sokka’s mom asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka peers up from the dragon and at his mom and he realizes just how exhausted she looks. New wrinkles collect at the corners of her eyes, which are hollow and dark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Sokka lies. But she’s tired and needs rest. “I’m tired. I know it’s early, but I’m probably going to turn in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mom nods. “Okay...are you sure you don’t want me to talk to your—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I promise. The prince is pretty cool, so I’ll be able to stand it.” Sokka smiles, hoping it’ll convince her to give it up and get some rest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And thankfully, she takes it. She crosses the room to the door, and as she passes Sokka, she pulls him in and presses a kiss to his temple. “Let me know if you change your mind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door clicks closed behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next several minutes, Sokka takes the time to get comfortable. He pulls his hair out of its wolf tail, takes out his contacts, and pulls on a fresh pair of sweats. He plops into the feathery comfort of his bed and relief rolls over him like a wave. He curls his toes, takes in the sheer serenity this bed provides, and sinks into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s until Druk lands on his forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka goes cross-eyed trying to get a good look at him, and it ends up only straining his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Sokka groans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Druk just chirps at him and hops off of his face and onto the fluffy blanket under him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rolls onto his side and watches the little dragon burrow into the fuzzy blanket. He nuzzles his snout into it, and then lets his full body flop down. It’s so cute, and it makes Sokka grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really did miss Druk….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would he be able to bring him to the summit?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought’s fleeting—in and out of his mind—but it does remind him. Sokka grabs his phone from the side table and pulls up his messages. Instead of pulling up the list, his and Lee’s messages pop up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka was the last one to text him—pictures that he took over vacation. They all look so happy. Sokka was happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka was also ignorant on the island. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignorant of who he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignorant of who Lee is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignorant of everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What if he doesn’t remember?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka squeezes his eyes closed so hard, he can see colors on the inside of his eyelids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee will remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee will remember their life together….he will….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in the meantime—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka’s phone starts to buzz in his grasp and he opens his bleary eyes to Somi’s caller ID. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sniffing, Sokka answers and tries to sound like he’s not on the verge of his second breakdown for the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was actually about to call you,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?” Somi replies. “You mean after my ten calls, twelve messages, and an attempt to video call you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi blew up his phone while they were in Hira’a. Sokka had other things to worry about then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he’s rubbing his burning neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In all fairness, I was distracted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi hums into the phone. “I’m sure you were—anyway, I’m sure you got the memo about this new summit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka rolls his eyes. “Yup.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that you’re staying with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this the protection program you were talking about?” Sokka asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty much. But also, you could use a friend and I’m perfectly happy to be one to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka blanches. “I have friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Statues and your boyfriend don’t count, sweet cheeks. Plus, we have some trouble to get into.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A subtle smirk slides onto Sokka’s face. He pulls a knee to his chest. “Oh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. Now, how was your honeymoon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next hour or so—Somi is </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely</span>
  </em>
  <span> talkative—Sokka and Somi bounce back and forth. Sokka tells Somi all about the trip: the flight, the play, the lagoon, the conversation that he had with the siblings (not in explicit detail, but the general gist), and then, the drop-off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi, in turn, tells him what he missed at this summit. According to him, the thing was built around Sokka going—“What does that even mean?”—and that’s why they have a new one coming up. It’s then that Sokka discovers that it’s the weekend before finals because it’s the last day for FNU. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The back and forth between the two alleviates some of the prior stressors from the day, and when Somi’s voice starts to get raspy from all of the talking, Sokka almost feels new. The lingering effects of numbness no longer knot around his heart, and Sokka can laugh genuinely and without force behind it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their conversation only comes to an end when Sokka’s laying with his head hanging off the bed, as they’re making plans for “troublemaking” in the Fire Nation. Sokka’s phone begins to buzz, and when he pulls the phone from his ear to see who it is, he swallows the laugh in his throat and sits back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lee’s calling me,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Answer it. Duh,” Somi says. “Anyway, since you’re a picky bastard that likes schedules, I’ll make an itemized list of things we can do when we’re not in an all day meeting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka snorts. “Sounds good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somi hangs up, and Sokka answers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee sits miles away, but his face shows up on Sokka’s phone screen. It looks like he’s in some common area, but the fluorescents wash him out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, he wears a visage heavy with remorse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka stares at him, heart keeping uneven time. He sees Lee and he’s automatically going to forgive him, of course, but Iroh’s words echo in the back of Sokka’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What if he doesn’t remember?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Sunshine,” Sokka finally says. He gives Lee his best smile, but he’s sure it doesn’t reach his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee looks away from the phone and Sokka only sees the top of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What Sokka would do to be there with him right now….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Lee says nothing for a moment. He does nothing. The camera stays on his upper head, and as seconds grow into minutes, unease settles itself in Sokka.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of the worst-case scenarios run through his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if Lee thought he didn’t want him anymore?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if Lee realizes it’s not worth it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What if?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you pull away from me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka heaves a sigh of relief and it’s enough to earn a head cock from Lee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart melts, just a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you think it’s because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to be seen with you, I promise it’s not that.” For emphasis, Sokka crosses his heart and holds his hand up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It earns him a hint of a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, what?” Lee asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Sokka wishes they were anywhere but where they are now. Across a strait. In two different bedrooms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should talk about this in person,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’ll allow him to think about </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wants to say. He doesn’t just want to throw the fact that he knows about everything Lee deliberately hadn’t told him in his face, even though it leaves Sokka wondering “why” as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In response, Lee’s eyes light up with alert. “When?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if we got a do-over at Narook’s?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Lee just looks lost. And honestly, Sokka kind of is as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m asking you on a date,” Sokka says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we’ll talk about our insecurities?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We know most if not everything else about each other.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Lee grins and it’s like basking in a sunbeam. It makes Sokka smile, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the whats and whens, the two retreat to more mushy talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka tells Lee that he misses having him in his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee tells Sokka that nothing’s better when they wake up next to each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the phone call ends, Sokka’s basking in the sheer exuberance talking to Lee gives him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sokka talks to him, or spends time around him, it’s like a day out in the sun. Lee leaves him glowing, wanting more of what makes him feel sleepy and elated at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as fast as the delight washes over him, waves always have to ebb. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What if he doesn’t remember?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The grin on Sokka’s face fades to a half-way frown, and any sense of glee that’s in him dissipates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee’s grown on Sokka. Sokka cares about him and what he thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he decided it would be okay to date him because he was remembering. He calls Lee his because, soon, he’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>understand</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if he never does?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What once was joy in his heart dries and crumbles, leaving nothing but this new form of guilt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Lee doesn’t remember, Sokka doesn’t know what he’ll do, and he hates himself for it. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, friends! </p><p>School's almost out for me!! Just have some poetry to turn in, a final to submit, and I'm home free for a month! </p><p>How's everyone? How are y'all doing? </p><p>Also, I'm planning a new fanfic! It's nothing like this, but after I write my BB fic and the last chapter of ICBS(FY), I want to start on it! Basic idea is that one day, flatmates and best friends Zuko and Sokka find a baby on their doorstep. When Sokka finds out she's his, he needs to decide what to do. If anyone wants to read the outline and let me know what they think in terms of tension and arc, either leave a comment or message me on Tumblr! (Also, looking for some trans men input since Zuko's going to be trans in the story :))</p><p>Anyway, here are the questions of the chapter!</p><p>QotC:</p><p>1. What do you think this summit will be about? </p><p>2. What do you think of Somi's place in the story? </p><p>3. Do you think Somi's trustworthy? </p><p>That's all for now! You can always find me on <a href="https://lovelyzukka.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/lovelyzukka">Twitter</a>, and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lovelyzukka/">Instagram</a>!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'd like to thank <a href="https://paintedlight.tumblr.com/">Elle</a>, <a href="https://punkzukka.tumblr.com/">Casper</a>, <a href="https://beachytablecloth.tumblr.com/">BeachyTableCloth</a>, <a href="https://thesadlesbianclown.tumblr.com/">SadLesbianClown</a>,  <a href="https://gaylord-zuko.tumblr.com/">Gaylord Zuko</a>, <a href="https://that-was-anticlimactic.tumblr.com/">Corey</a>, <a href="https://anxietyriddenzuko.tumblr.com/">Taylor</a>, <a href="https://whenyourfavouritedies.tumblr.com/">When Your Favourite Dies</a>,  and <a href="https://sintheeuhxo.tumblr.com/">Sin</a> for the beta work and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindbending/pseuds/mindbending">Mindbending</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseWaterTears/pseuds/RoseWaterTears">Rose</a> for the cheer leading and asking the tough questions! Love y'all!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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